


The Magician's Maid

by SmutWithPlot



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dark Fantasy, Demons, Doppelganger, Dragons, Fantasy, For Want Of a Wife, Golems, High Fantasy, Master/Servant, Servants, Skinwalker, Unethical Magic, Wizards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:48:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24063121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutWithPlot/pseuds/SmutWithPlot
Summary: When a desperate girl is hired to be the caretaker for a mysterious sorceror's estate, the newly named Lorelai must battle dust, dragons, wizards, and a dark secret that has been haunting him for years.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	1. The Witching Hour

It was early. Something like four in the morning, early. The world was silent, the late nighters had already taken their vigil with the moon, and trying to get some shut-eye before the early risers awoke with the sun. Between the two, the sorceror called Mordecai was there. He preferred to sleep through the chaos (when his body could sleep) and work in the stillness. The quiet of mornings, when people were still too tired to conversate, was the best time to run errands, but this dark hour - this time between midnight and morning - was the best. The only souls around to trouble him were the dead ones.

Mordecai sat at his desk, carefully transcribing the premonitions he'd had this evening. It was a little tricky to decipher what was overcooked pot roast, and what was the whispered secrets from the other side, but with diligence and a trained ear, he'd learned to listen well over the years. So it was with much frustration that he listened to the shuff-shuff-shuffle of her slippered feet as she made her way down the hall.

By the time her presence filled the doorway, he could feel the last of their influence slipping back into the darkness, and the sorceror scrambled to collect what last little droppings he could snatch from them before they ran away.

She yawned. "Darling... Please come to bed."

He silently fumed as he put a dot at the end of the thought. "I'm working."

She stepped in to look at the grandfather clock on the other side of the room, its silent face peering down at her in the darkness. "At three in the morning?"

Mordecai did his best to contain his anger. It was only three? "Yes. I am." He turned in his chair to look at her, though at this point, he really didn't want to. "Or rather, I was."

She seemed unfazed by the darkness simmering in his eyes. Clearly, she was not awake enough to think, or she would never have disturbed him. Not now, not here. In fact, she was never supposed to enter this room, and yet her fluffy pink slippers were squatting on his carpet, the fuzzy atrocities disturbing the intricate pattern of golds and reds and royal purples. He could feel her weight on the threads as if she were standing on his very soul.

He could feel the hate bubbling up within him. Could feel the wrath and power crouching low inside, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting doe. His eyes returned to the Book of Mirrors, the ink still glistening on the page. The whispers of the shadows were merely a fleeting memory by this point. Here, in the Witching Hour, she'd interrupted his precious meditation, and stirred up a nasty pot, bringing dangerous demons up to his surface.

"Need I remind you..." His teeth ground together as if he would make dust between them, and his knuckles burned white as angelic fire around cold steel. "Who I am."

It was now that her mind returned to her. He could tell, because her eyes began to widen, and her face turned pale. Something in him could smell her fear, and it licked its lips, goading him, begging him. Just a taste. Do it. Feel the thrill.

He felt himself rise. The demonic grin didn't make its way to his face - the hate stayed there. "Need I remind you what I am." Her arms reached behind her to the door - the door that was three steps away. The door that he'd left open, trusting she would nevertheless respect his line. The line he had put into place many years ago. The line he had warned her of when she first came here. The line that had always been there. The line that she had so carelessly crossed, and at this, the most dangerous and most vulnerable of times.

It was still only three in the morning.

With an unearthly howl, he cut the air with a single strike, and the door slammed shut with a murderous crack. She screamed, the carvings on the portal glowing with a containment spell that had her trapped in more ways than one. She turned back, clutching herself, and her eyes bulged out in terror as his own dark orbs burned with hate, the lips stretching out into a wicked grin.

"Good night, my pretty," a high-pitched, goblin of a voice called out to her. She cowered and screeched, crumpling to the carpet, as the blade came down.

She wouldn't do it again.


	2. First Impressions

When in the wild, the kindness of a gilded cage turns cruel.

The world was hot, here. Dust covered everything, dirt and sand stealing away the colors so that all that was left was a shade of tan or brown. Even the people, their skin painted in shades of soot or clay, or that golden dirt you find when you dig deep enough. In the clamoring of the docks, she found herself turned around in an alleyway. What had looked to be an invitation to shelter from the dirt and heat led to nothing, and she quickly turned about.

She was no longer alone. Two men, both wearing drab cloaks, stood before her, their eyes like coal.

"Lost, Miss?" one asked.

She smiled. "Aye, I am. Could you help me?"

They looked to each other, and then back to her.

His eyes followed the lines of the fine skirts that still shone blue, hanging around her hips. "Perhaps for a price."

Not so gentlemanly, then. She thought back to her limited experience with the cad's friends. "Sorry, I don't have much. I've only just got here."

"No escort?" asked the second.

She shook her head. "No. I'm alone." It was improper, she knew, but who was she to tell of her shame? Who would escort her? She had no honor, no gold, and no name.

But the men seemed to shift. The first one chuckled, a low, uncomfortable sound. "Well, that _changes_ things." The pair of them moved toward her, and her mind flashed to the image of a doe, cornered by hungry hunters.

_An escort would be really nice right now_ , she thought. She whispered a prayer to the gods, then, for help.

Why had she not had the thought to pray before now?!

"HELP!" she yelped, as the first got his hands on her.

"No squealing, now," cooed the second, clamping a hand over her mouth.

_Really! Hands on a lady!_ Impropriety bred impropriety — she decided to toss the rules for their sakes. She squirmed and _bit_ and the bastard squawked.

"Enough, you!" The first rose his hand to strike and—

He let out a blood-curdling scream as it was wrenched backward. With only one arm on her now, the girl escaped his embrace, twirling to see the second stammering, eyes wide, backing away and holding out a shaking hand towards her. "NO! PLEASE!"

But no, he was gaping over her shoulder — she turned about to see the first man's spine recoil as he let out a gurgling roar. "MERCY!" she heard his partner cry, but her eyes were fixed on the shadow that tossed her attacker to the ground like a basket of rotten cabbages. It was a man — that's what her eyes told her — but her soul felt like there was a massive, dark shape looming over her, eyes red like hellfire looking down upon them all with judgment.

"Gods protect us," she whispered, and then the entity roared around her in a hot, thick cloud that smelt of ash and flames and darkness. She ducked her head, curling herself into a ball, eyes wide with panic, but the creature didn't touch her. Instead, she heard the sharp pop of a boot and the swing of a weapon before her other assailant let out a gargling AWK! and joined his companion on the ground. Trembling, she dared to turn, but the shadow that she had felt was merely a man. A man who was shaking in fury, chest heaving, and when he turned to her, his eyes flashed with darkness, but it was only a flash — they were actually the brightest, clearest blue, and soft, luscious locks of honey and caramel danced around his youthful face, handsome features tightened in battle, clenched fists at his sides.

"Are you alright, my lady?" His voice was a sweet sound, the melody of it incongruous with the creature she had been hiding from a moment ago. One could even go so far as to say he was _beautiful_ , with a long, fitted frame that boasted the power of a man still climbing into his prime, eager to see the world and taste its treasures, perhaps only several years beyond her own experience. Draped around him was a red and gold cloak, stitched together from rich fabrics in a fashion that seemed purposeful in its eccentricity. A white tunic shone from beneath, and he wore trousers of wine corduroy.

He was a _wizard_. She swallowed, chiding herself for gawking, and broke off eye contact. "A-aye, sir." She gave a shaking, low bow. "Th-thank you."

"Why are you wandering around without your escort?" His rich voice shook with a fury, and she couldn't help but think not all of it was towards the men that had attacked her.

"I… I don't have one, sir." She looked down in shame. "I am alone."

"But _why?_ " Even if his frame was higher than hers, his very _presence_ seemed much, much bigger. It loomed over her, intimidating and fierce. _Quick to anger_ , someone had once advised.

"Because… I have no one. Sir." She bit her lip. "I am alone in the world. I… I've been cast out by my betrothed… What little money I have left…" Was dwindling by the second. "…I was looking for work, sir. Please. Do you know the way to the Black Spider's?"

The golden angel's eyes hardened. "You would work as a scullery maid?" Doubtless, he saw the fineness of her dress. He couldn't know that it was the only other one she owned.

She nodded. "Aye, sir. And make for myself a decent enough living."

He pursed his lips, the feeling of grandness shrinking into a reasonable size. "Are you so desperate, my dear?" There was something else in those too-blue-to-be-true eyes… She couldn't place it, but it made her soul ache.

She bowed low again. "Aye, sir. I am."

He shuffled his face, studying her. "Did I hear you pray to the gods, child?"

She blushed crimson. "Aye, sir. My parents used to attend service every week."

A golden brow arched. "Your parents?"

She managed a tiny shrug. "I confess, I have fallen out of the habit…" Perhaps if she hadn't, she might not be in this mess.

But her savior nodded. "It is just as well. I have no need of a servant who insists on Sundays off and attempts to feed scripture to me with breakfast."

Did he just…? Her heart soared. "Sir?"

"I have need of a servant," he said a mischievous smile on his lips but held up a hand. "On a trial basis. You can always return to the Black Spider if serving me proves too much of a challenge for you."

"Oh, sir! I mean, milord!" She bowed lower than she ever had in her _life_ — she was certain her nose nearly touched the ground. "Oh, milord, I'd be honored!" A maid! She had been a maid before, and with the right master, it might even be a comfortable life.

A boyish charm twinkled through bright blue eyes, and he smiled kindly at her. His face tilted down in an incongruous submission. "Well. You certainly are eager."

"Oh, milord, anything! I am already in your debt! You've saved my life!" And likely will again — oh, could this be true?! Oh, thank the gods! Yes, she _should_ have prayed to them earlier!

"It will be just the basics," he told her, his smile not reaching his eyes. "Keep up the house, do the laundering, serve tea when I have company. If I could get some help with menial tasks here and there, it would free me up for a lot of other things I need doing."

"Oh." The poor dear. His wife must have left him. "I suppose I could do all that, milord."

The kindly thing brightened into something a little more genuine. "You'll have your own quarters, of course, and I promise, you will want for _nothing_." The phrase rolled off his tongue with ease, and set a feeling of ambition and contentment in her heart. If it was bad to be in a wizard's debt, it was likewise good to be in a wizard's favor. Wizards dispelled ghosts and evil spirits, blessed farmlands, cleansed wells, healed the sick and heralded in favorable weather. How much more so could her needs be met than by sharing a roof with one such magick-maker? But even a wizard of such great power could be desperate without the help of a woman? Funny how men truly are all the same.

"I would be honored, milord," she answered with a curtsy. "And really... It's the least I could do." She could think of a number of more painful and regrettable prices he could name than to scrub some floors and hang some drawers.

And just like that, she had a home again. A job, even, with which to occupy her mind and hands. The wizard introduced himself as Roger; he took her arm and escorted her back to the little hotel to collect her things, and when no one was looking, he stuffed an impossible number of them into a satchel at his side. Despite the size and weight, he carried it with ease, and Belle found herself at once enamored by the perks of magick. He dropped a generous amount of gold in the hand of the innkeeper and thanked him profusely for housing her, then took her to market and had her pick out a loaf of fresh-baked bread, spiced sausage, and a small wheel of cheese, which she was allowed to carry herself. She felt rich, with the weight of the food on her hip, and followed with a grin as he led her out of town.

"Here: take this."

He handed her a pretty little ring of yellow gold with a cluster of little gemstones bound together like a wizard's patchwork cloak, all rubies and sapphires and emeralds and variations in between. She put it on without question and swelled with pride.

Dusk was only starting to creep into the blue of the sky above the emerald trees that made up the thick wood to the south. She did her best to follow the trail in her walking shoes, but they didn't seem to be the type for twigs and stones underfoot so much as leisurely strolls across the stone. She wondered how well she would have managed to work at the pub with such things on her feet, and did her best to hide her discomfort as they ventured deeper and deeper into the forest. They didn't speak for some time, and she found comfort in his leisurely pace. When the night fully came, a glow came from his walking stick that did well to light the way. Over time, a silent thoughtfulness touched her, wondering about what kind of fantastic things she might see at a wizard's shop, having never dared to go in one herself. So caught up was she in her imaginings, that when his voice spoke again, she almost tripped over an outstretched root.

"I'm… sorry about all this," he said. She thought his smile was meant to be reassuring, but it didn't quite have enough heart in it to reach his eyes. But his voice was a beautiful melody, soothing and sweet "Being a wizard, I make a lot of enemies. And friends, for that matter." His beam broadened, a sense of adventure and mischief. "So I have to keep myself well hidden. I do beg your pardon for the inconvenience, but rest assured, you'll be safe here."

At 'here', he stopped in the middle of the forest. She quickly looked about and saw nothing of interest, but when he reached out into the wood and pulled a garden gate out of nowhere she gasped.

It glistened into existence: a simple wooden gate, painted white with the insignia of some spell or other decorating it where a house crest might have been in a conspicuously bright shade of purple. She looked from it to her wizard escort, and he winked, waving a hand inside.

As soon as the lady stepped into the gate, what had looked like wood a second ago blossomed into a small, wild garden, full of herbs and flowers in a kaleidoscope of colors popping amongst shapes and shades of green. Firebugs danced in and out of sight, making it look all the more fantastic under the stars.

"Oh my..."

He shut the gate but stayed outside it.

"Please, make yourself at home," he said, nodding to the quiet little cottage down the way. "I'll be back as soon as I can." And then his lips twitched. "And, look out for Argee. We don't often get guests, but that charm I gave you should keep the beasts at bay."

Her eye went down to the jeweled ring on my finger. It was so pretty. And it would keep her safe, he said. She looked back at him and nodded. "Will you be long?"

His smile was kind, but a kind of sadness settled in his eyes. "No longer than I need to be." He waved goodbye, then stepped back into the grove and disappeared.

She didn't know she'd been holding her breath, but the exhale was a lot longer and louder than she would have thought possible. She turned back to the cottage, clutching the charmed hand to her chest, hoping it would really do the trick.

The cottage was humble, much like the fence that surrounded this place but also had the feeling of homely unkemptness. She wondered idly when the last time a woman lived here was, and who it was that 'tended' the garden. As she looked closer, she found the plants growing wildly every which way, melding in with each other as they wished. But... best not to question a wizard's ways, she thought to herself.

There was a small cobbled path, the occasional stone marked with a dark insignia, each one a little different, most of them dark purples and reds. She looked down at her own charm, which had some of the same, and imagined that perhaps dark purple and red were protective, hiding colors. Maybe these were spells. Made enough sense, to put wards up around a house where possible. Reused the space, leaving room for the ragtag garden...

The house was cobbled, too — stones stacked atop each other and pasted together with mortar. A sturdy, wooden door of pine stood guard over the residence, but there was no knocker.

There was also no doorknob.

Biting her lip, she looked back to the gate. Shuffling her face, she returned to the door.

Nervously, she lifted a fist to knock.

As soon as her hand touched the wood, the charm on her finger glowed with a purple warmth. She gasped, but the door opened with a bemused groan.

Again... she must have been holding my breath because it came out forced and long. It shuddered. Her heart, too, fluttered wildly in her breast

"What other tricks does he have just lying about?" she wondered, partly terrified, partly frustrated that he hadn't bothered to mention this. Mind... She was just about as clever as he supposed.

As the lady looked around, she realized it was... impossible. There was no way a room this size fit into that little cottage, much less the rooms that were past it. Or the stairs that went up to even more house that quite simply couldn't be.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and imagined the cottage being far larger than it had appeared. Perhaps if it was the size of a small mansion, this could fit in. Yes, that would do it. She opened an eye again, the delusion letting her observe without going mad.

This first room was a kind of sitting room. Old, mismatched furniture of varying jewel tones and warm woods were scattered about, offering an eclectic, yet comfortable place to sit with friends or guests. An open doorway led to a kitchen of sorts, where a number of plants and things were hanging from the ceiling. She stepped into the house to look a little better, but there wasn't coffee or tea set up or even an icebox — just cauldrons and pots and the occasional mortar and pestle.

"Hmm..." An apothecary, perhaps? She looked closer at the floors, a dark stone tile, and decided he really hadn't cleaned them in some time. But... he'd said: he didn't have many guests.

Down the hall, there loomed a massive staircase. It was very wide, and judging by the patches of yellow at the bottom, used quite often. She peered at a strange pattern on the wood. Was that... a claw mark?

She flinched back and shook her head. Nonsense. What would a claw mark be doing in someone's home?

But, she reminded herself, it was a _wizard_ 's home. And he had said something about keeping the beasts at bay...

_Great. Just the thought I needed_. She clutched that ring to her chest again, holding the hand with the other, in case her protection might run away. She watched the steps wandered up, hit the wall, then double back to climb higher. A window peered out into the sky, a bright robin egg blue. She blinked at it but tore herself away from whatever monstrosities might live upstairs.

Just across the way from the stairs was a door, white and unmarked. For some reason, it felt… eerie. She looked to the doorknob, spotted without polish. She carefully turned it — it was a little rough — and decided it was likely a broom closet, and let it be.

Bachelors, she thought. Wizard or not, men were always the same... A door to the right had the characteristic picture of a 'bathroom', and she feared for what may be inside. To the left, open double doors of dark walnut, handsomely cut and polished.

All she could see at first was shelf after shelf after shelf of books. Thick, dusty, leather-bound tomes, brightly colored with beautiful inlays or somberly unmarked. She wandered in, curious what books a wizard might have in his private library, and checked the labels on shelves.

This one read 'apothecary'. Huge encyclopaedias of herbs and potions and plants. Tedious study, she was sure. Another shelf read 'geography'. Atlases from worlds that sounded like something from fantasy rang out. What was _Gaia?_ Her fingers touched the edge of the shelf. A little farther down, 'divination'. Books and of varying sizes and colors, boxes and bags of things and a crystal ball and —

She heard a raspy, gnarled sound from behind her.

She froze, retrieving her curious hand, and clutched it to her chest once more. Forcing down the lump in her throat, she slowly turned.

It appeared to be... a dragon. Or, more precisely, a dragon's head. Peering out from behind a shelf a little farther along. It... peered down its nose at her, golden eyes narrowed under silver, emerald-tipped scales. A pair of spectacles perched on its face.

She couldn't speak.

The dragon removed the glasses. "What, pray tell, are you doing here?" it asked, curtly. Like it was forcing itself to be kind. Its voice was high and whimsical, in contrast to the raspy sound it had made before.

She squeaked a small sound, but it didn't come out as a word. Not even an 'err'. Instead, she thrust forth her fist, the jeweled charm on one finger.

It blinked at the ring, and the lady instantly felt foolish. Like a small ring could fend off a dragon. She was doomed.

And to make matters worse, the dragon stepped into the hall and... there were _two_ heads.

"Hey, hey!" the second head said cheerily, its voice rich and hearty, a big, toothy grin taking her in with delight. Imagining how well she'd taste, one might imagine. "Guest!" Its eyes, too, were golden and focused on the ring on her finger.

"G...?" she failed to whisper.

And promptly fainted.

xxx

In another part of the world, a tall, dark spectre stepped from the wood, shaking a long black cloak around his shoulders. Sharp, calculating eyes flitted this way and that. Quiet steps whispered over the crispy leaves of autumn, and then the gentle clop of cobblestone. Not too far away, another man boasted the colorful garb of wizard, his kaleidoscope of color stitched in gold in a neat, but haphazard way. Chestnut curls bounced about him, jeweled fingers clasped together at the small of his back. The man in black made his steps louder, and the wizard turned.

"Ah! Master Solomon. On time, as ever."

"Jefferson," he answered. He did not slow his pace, but the colorful fellow met his pace easily, a slight singing to him that Solomon could not place. "Not waiting too long, I hope."

"Bad habit, I'm afraid. If I'm not terribly early, I'm dreadfully late. As it is, I had no other appointments today, so I decided to enjoy the day's splendors." He gestured to the trees, each undressing for winter, and the cold gray of sky beyond.

The sorceror snorted. "As you like."

They walked in almost silence for a while, Jefferson periodically attempting to start conversation, and Solomon steadfastly denying him. The wizard smiled regardless.

They both stopped at the entrance of an altar to pay their respects. Solomon bowed his head and shut his eyes, clasping his hands before him. His soul whispered a silent prayer to the gods and asked the temple guardian for its guidance and protection. Beside him, Jefferson echoed his motions but peeled one eye to watch his companion.

"We are here to pray, and yet you still watch me like a worried hen."

"I am merely praying to the temple guardian to grant you peace and insight," he answered in mock offense. "Is it my fault that the insight happens to be about my own behavior?" He gestured to his bosom with light hands.

Solomon answered him with another snort, and moved past the altar and through the small makeshift marketplace beyond — it was stocked in herbs and candles and magickal supplies for the magicker's home altar and practices: most of the stall keepers were the same as were always here every week, and did not bother the man in black. Jefferson turned this way and that, taking it all in but did not stop. As they started to ascend the seven steps to Temple, Solomon realized that it the sound of jingling bells accompanying each step.

"Are you wearing bloody Chryssam bells?" he hissed.

"They're not bloody, no," Jefferson answered, as if intrigued by the thought, "But they _are_ Chryssam bells."

Solomon knew Jefferson was mad, but… "I imagine that would get annoying rather quickly. Carrying bells."

Jefferson nodded quickly. "You would think, yes. But actually, I find it brings me good luck. Particularly being that they're _Chryssam_ bells: they frighten away evil spirits." Solomon listened with genuine interest. "Also, I find it makes me, in general, a more _cheery_ person to be around." He beamed at his friend. "Wouldn't you agree, friend?"

Solomon pondered it and hesitated at the thresh hold of Temple. "Just to be contrary, I shall say 'no'."

Jefferson chuckled. And then cocked his head to the side. "I wonder: is a contrarian, by virtue of being a contrarian, held to a no-lying law in Temple?"

"I can't imagine a self-respecting contrarian would _attend_ Temple that had a no-lying law."

"Ha, true!" Jefferson laughed. The pair of them crossed the thresh hold, and were instantly bound by the constriction and reverence of the space. A magicker's Temple was not a stone building like the Coders worshiped in, but rather a clearing in the middle of the woods surrounded by trees in a near-perfect circle, the 'market' behind them the only official entrance. The grove had been sanctified, centuries ago, and a fire circle was already burning merrily in the center. It was still early in the evening, and only half a dozen or so magickers were yet in attendance.

Jefferson turned this way and that. "I think… Tonight I shall drum."

"And I shall sit." Solomon picked out a favorite tree, and settled himself, crossing his legs and resting against the old wood. It was a good night, the air clear, and the earth fresh. It smelled of ice, impending winter, crisp and unforgiving, even with the fire crackling, and the light chatter of people. There was a single drummer already at the circle, and a witch dancing to his beat. Jefferson asked leave of someone to borrow a drum, and joined in with the beat, watching and listening so much as playing.

The man in the black closed his eyes and leaned against the tree, and prayed to the gods that he hadn't just made a terrible mistake.


	3. The Man With Three Faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no one is to come past that door. I have a shopkeep set up to deter people, but a determined person could just ignore him. If they should manage to get in here, alert the dragon he will take care of any mischief-makers. I do get the occasional apprentice who wants to dare another to come back here.

"…Doesn't even warn us about guests—"

"—yes! It's quite rude—"

"—I mean, what if we'd eaten her, you know? It's a bad first impression."

"And very reckless, I whole-heartedly concur."

"Not to mention— Wait a minute. When did we start talking out loud?"

"Oh, she must be coming around."

The girl tried to turn away, but the two voices above her were quite insistent. The one was low and gruff, almost a growl, while the other was high and lilting, with a musical quality that might have been more charming were it not compounding a mysterious headache. She groaned, holding a hand to her head, and attempted to sit up. She smelled something like… the ash and smoke of a campfire, and earth, and something like honey. She let her eyes open, but… she must have been seeing things. Four eyes of honey-gold blinked at her, framed in moonlight, and details of forest green.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," said the pair on the right. A flash of teeth accompanied every word.

"Yes, quite!" agreed the one on the left, spectacles perched on its snout. "The Master would be quite cross if we let any harm befall a _guest_."

It was two servants, she told herself. Her mind frowned at the shoulders they seemed to share. "Sorry… What?"

The bespectacled head raised itself and cleared its throat before gesturing to their shared chest with a claw. "I'm Rosencrantz." He gestured to the other, which grinned devilishly, all teeth. "And this is Guildenstern."

"Actually," the other corrected quickly, "I'm Rosencrantz and _he's_ Guildenstern."

The first looked back at the other, then groaned, putting a claw to his face. "Oh, not this again..."

The lady looked between the two of them, confused.

"I'm terribly sorry," said the one. "It's a downside of sharing a mind — he likes to confuse me. He _is_ right. _I_ am Guildenstern."

"Whatever you say, Rosey." The grinning head groomed a claw, terribly amused.

"Stop it, you'll confuse the poor girl!" he hissed.

Actually, now that she thought about it, it almost resembled… a two-headed dragon. Which seemed impossible, were it not for the fact that, yes, people didn't generally have a skin of shimmering silver scales, long snouts crowned with petite horns, and they certainly didn't share shoulders that then went on to claws and… well, that was a rather long tail. The head then turned to her in earnest. "If you look at us head-on, the one on the _right_ —" Here he jabbed a claw at the now giggling head "—is Rosencrantz. Which means _I_ am Guildenstern." He huffed, a puff of smoke marking his annoyance. "We go by Guil and Rose for short."

"Or Argee, collectively," added Rosencrantz. The one on the right.

 _Look out for Argee_. Something in her was trying not to panick at the fact that her new wizard master had a pet two-headed dragon. She was surprisingly calm for being confronted with something that shouldn't exist, but then: wizards. She looked between the two of them and decided it was like twins. It would take a while, but eventually, you'd figure it out. When the shock wore off. "So... Rosencrantz..." She pointed to the mischievous one. "...And Guildenstern." She pointed at the one with spectacles.

Guil said, "Yes," and Rose said, "No."

"You TWIT!" Guil hissed, and Rose then, just as suddenly, the pair of them stopped, as if they'd heard something in the distance that set their blood to ice.

There was a squawk of terror from the dragon. "GAH! The Master! The Master is on his way home!"

"Quick!" Rose cried. "Make yourself scarce!"

Shouting and screaming a bit in panic, the beast ran out the room and down the hall. Scared, but not really knowing why, she tried to follow, realizing that she was now in a different room altogether: a dusty, dark office with a desk crammed in one corner, and bookshelves all full of notebooks and tomes and papers in no order whatsoever, and a layer of dust. _How long has it been since he's used this space?_ she thought, looking around as she stumbled to her feet. Deciding to worry more about the panicking dragon for right now, she went to the door, finding herself in a good-sized hallway, warm wood covered in a carpet that looked the red of blood with the sparse tail of the dragon disappeared into another room, the door slamming shut behind it. She opened her mouth to say something, but the floor shifted around her, and she swayed, stunned, in the middle of a hall, the rest of the doors slammed shut at once. She spun about in surprise. The hallway was _shrinking_.

"The Maaaasteeeeer!" Guil's voice echoed, from nowhere and everywhere at once.

The world was spinning, and then the hallway had only two doors on one side, and a third on the other, besides which was the stairs she recognized from before — the ones that were covered in claw marks from the two-headed dragon that had just vanished from her presence.

And it was from down the stairs that the sound of a door opening came.

"Hello?" a voice called. It was softer-spoken than she remembered but definitely male, part-tentative, and part-amused. "Argee, did you manage to eat the new caretaker?"

Breath caught in her throat, the caretaker in question grabbed a rail and her skirts and made her way down the stairs.

Again, the world had changed. The hallway she came out to held the white door, the library door, and on one end there was what looked like the swinging door you'd find in a pub or shop; on the other end, the apothecary and sitting room were done away with, leaving another door.

Inside of which, was a small man. He could best be described as wiry, with bright brown eyes and dark locks. They curled every so slightly from some light rain she couldn't hear, but he was hanging a long, black cloak on a hook that had not been beside the door before. It also held the coat that the wizard had worn when she first met him…

She stared, not recognizing the face. He smiled, recognizing her.

"Ah, good," he said. "The dragon didn't eat you. I'm pleased." He grabbed the red and gold cloak and tossed it over his shoulders. No sooner had he done so then his shoulders rose, the dark locks brightening to the caramel color from before. The eyes cleared to a blue, and his smile grew younger, more cheery. "How is this, dearie?" Once more, the melodious, rich voice she knew.

She shut her gaping jaw. She bowed. "Master. You've returned."

His smile went lopsided. "You're going to be calling me that, are you?" He approached her, his hands just holding the cloak over his shoulders. "I do apologize for my hasty retreat earlier. It would do me well to explain things a bit better."

She bit her lip. "I imagine a wizard would do so in his own time?"

His eyes sparkled at her. "You are a kind soul. And far too forgiving." He patted his free hand on the cloak. "This is a transfiguration cloak. I use it for travel. This is the face you met. It goes by Roger."

She nodded. "Aye, milord." She remembered that part.

He nodded down the hall, to where the shop was. "If anyone should ask if the Wizard is in, and I'm not home, tell them that I'm traveling. Roger travels a great deal to collect the things I sell there, so that is not uncommon." He raised a finger. "On that note: no one is to come past that door. I have a shopkeep set up to deter people, but a determined person could just ignore him. If they should manage to get in here, alert the dragon — he will take care of any mischief-makers. I do get the occasional apprentice who wants to dare another to come back here.

 _There's someone in there?_ She looked over her shoulder at the swinging doors, but she didn't _hear_ anyone… She turned back to the Master, making a note to meet this other person.

"There's not but the library and apothecary, but these stores are still very precious." He patted the white door. "Lots of very rare, rather expensive, and dangerous things in here."

She gulped, remembering how quickly she'd given up on the door, and immediately thanked the gods that she had.

The wizard didn't seem to notice her discomfort. He looked about a bit more, eyes wandering. "Lessee… Did you see the apothecarian kitchen?"

She pursed her lips. "The one with all the cauldrons?" Filthy and dusty?

"Yes, that's right." He beamed. "You are very clever, my dear."

She bowed her head demurely and folded her hands. "If you say so, Master."

His lips twitched. "I actually have two kitchens — you'll find the other one around here somewhere. But whatever you do, don't ever eat in the apothecary. Unless you want to accidentally curse yourself. And really, I don't advise that."

He turned back to the small coat rack and removed the cloak once more. He lost a few inches on doing so and replaced it on the hook. "This is my actual face. You may or may not see a lot of it, depending on how busy I am." She noticed that his fingers were long and sure as they moved from piece to piece. He had a sharp, pointed nose, and his words were soft-spoken but sure. And she detected a bit of a lilt to it that might have been a subtle brogue. "This one had a name, long ago, but it's one I'd rather forgotten if you understand."

He looked at her, and the smile was sad.

She didn't understand the why, but she could understand the what. She nodded. "Yes, Master."

"Now, this other one…" He pulled a black cloak off and wrapped it around his shoulders. While Roger had been a more colorful, younger version of himself, this face was older, and much taller, to the point of being foreboding. Instead of brightening, his eyes and hair got darker, black, and oiled like a raven's wings. His skin was sallow as if he didn't get much light, and his features seemed to harden against his bones. Even his fingers seemed longer.

"This is Solomon." The voice was deep, almost a purr. "If a wizard comes by asking for the Sorceror, this is the face they are referring to. If I am not home, Solomon is at Temple. Do you follow?"

She gulped. Three men to keep track of… But she nodded. "Wizard's coat is Roger — he's out traveling. The black cloak is Solomon, the Sorceror. He's at…" She frowned. "You said 'Temple'?"

He gave a curt nod. "Yes."

And then he swept it off of him in one long, fluid motion. She could almost see a shimmer of magick as he did so, returning to his normal height. Compared to the looming presence of the Sorceror, he seemed even smaller.

"Now, then." He turned to her and was wearing a rather simple, homey thing: dark brown breeches, a white cotton shirt, and a waistcoat, stitched in wine and wood. He had a golden chain attached to a button and tucked a thumb into one of the pockets. "What do you think of the place so far?"

She moved her eyes to the filthy floors but wasn't sure how forward she felt safe being. "It will take some getting used to."

He had a warm smile when it was genuine — it made his eyes wrinkle, and they sparkled a bit like stars. "Good. Then let's get you sorted."

He led her up the scratched stairs, a lantern in hand to fight away the dark that seemed to loom over the place now that the Master had returned. She kept her eyes peeled for the dragon, half-wondering if she'd imagined it, but then, she'd never imagined something so fantastic before. There were still only three doors, though they might have changed — one besides the stairs that had an old, worn door of brown wood, one across that was white (this one had an insignia that seemed to resemble a star painted in purple), and another painted denim blue. This is the one he moved to, worn and faded, and when he opened it, there were more stairs.

"This house is a little confusing, I know. Doors and stairs come and go as they damned well please, so do be patient with it. Comes from being very old and stuffed with magick. More of it is my doing than is really fair. Can't expect mere wood and stone to keep up with a wizard's whims."

He spoke as if it were some kind of joke. A small spark of something wary came on her, hoping that she wouldn't accidentally find something nasty. She must have spoken the thought out loud.

"Oh, I don't think you should have to worry about that." But he paused and pointed at the white door. "If you see white, there's magick within. They should stay locked, don't bother trying to force them." He started up the stairs, which were simple and in good shape, despite scratch marks along the walls. She shivered at the idea of an absent beast destroying things but said nothing. The stairs didn't turn, and yet they came to another landing. It seemed an attic of sorts, with a large bed, simply dressed. Wooden beside tables, a lamp on either side. There was a large window that was fogged with rain, the wood smelling a bit musty. A chamberpot peeked out from under the bed.

"There may be a cobweb or two, but she's yours if you'll have it." He looked to her for approval, but she just nodded, wrapped in on herself. It was cold up here. She could hear the patter of rain on the roof, and she looked up at wooden rafters that seemed too innocent to belong to a wizard's mansion.

"I-it's fine," she muttered. "Just… A little cold."

"Well, there's a closet here…" She looked to where he pointed, another door — of white, she noted — and inside was a rod for hanging clothes. He pulled an old quilt from the top shelf and gave her a smile that was a little more nervous. "…Here. Another quilt. If it's not enough, just… Holler, heh."

She swallowed… Alone. In a bedroom. With a man who wasn't her husband. This time, she had the decency to be ashamed.

His hand hesitated on the doorknob… And he closed the closet. "I'm… sorry. It's been a while since I had someone living with me. I'm still… rusty with the proprieties." He turned to go, stopping in arm's reach of her. She moved into the room, giving him birth, and he continued out the door. "You, ah… You don't have to worry about feeding me breakfast or anything." Every time he tried it, the smile was a little more thin, a little more desperate. "Just… Just help reign in the dust. It's gotten away from me. Heh. I won't be troublesome, I promise."

She watched him attempt a last smile and slip down the stairs, boots clipping on the wood. The light went with him, and then disappeared as the door at the foot of the stairs closed behind him. As soon as the Master was gone, four gas lamps on the walls woke, soft plumes of light warming the place in welcome. She jumped, a little, her fingers worrying at the ring on her finger, and she stepped to the bed. Everything smelt of old dust and wood, but it was comfortable enough. She wrapped herself in the blankets, mind a whirl, and stared out the window. She couldn't see anything of it now but hoped it would be beautiful come daylight. After the frights of the day, the pitter-patter of rainfall was an easy lullaby and she drifted off to sleep.


	4. Day One

In the morning, it was still raining. She frowned, thinking this odd, but didn't fuss about it. It had been a relief to sleep as long as she wanted, but also disorienting. She made a note to find and commandeer a clock somewhere and bring it up to her room, provided the Master wouldn't mind. She wondered if he'd even _notice_. If the walls and stairs moved about, could she be blamed for moving a clock?

She opened the closet and was surprised to find what few garments she had to her name were already hanging there. Even the satchel she'd been wearing whilst traveling alongside the wizard was there, neatly set on a shelf as if she'd taken the time to do so herself. She stared a long while at it all, wondering if she ought to be offended that he would slip in while she was sleeping and hang up her things, and yet had the strange notion that he hadn't done it at all. How far did magick go, she wondered? Now that she thought of it, she didn't remember having her satchel upon waking. Perhaps it was the dragon? She could hardly imagine such an enormous beast being silent, what with its hollering and such, but what did she know about dragons?

When she'd done enough thinking that her brain hurt, and her stomach growled, and her feet protested just standing around, she picked out a new dress and changed. She left her old clothes on the bed, deciding to investigate the laundry situation, and what all needed to be done about getting a bite to eat. She found a candle on a holder that she could fit two fingers into, and even a small box of matches. She lit the candle and let it light her way down the stairs of her room.

The blue door opened to the familiar landing, but the white door with the star was now a doorway. She frowned, and moved towards it, and was delighted to find one of the kitchens he'd mentioned — the cooking one.

"Well. What lovely luck." There was a fat 3-wicked candle in the middle that, when lit, smelt of spiced berries that made her smile. A couple more gas lights were easily lit, which reminded her of the ones in her room that had decided to turn on of their own accord.

"Magick must be whimsy, I think," she said to herself. The kitchen was in the same state of neglectful dirt as the rest of the place, but here there was a sink that had _two_ handles, and she _shrieked_ when one of them let out water past scalding.

"Good gods!" she whispered. "What a dreadful thing!" Frightened, she turned away from it, eyeing it like a biting dog. The larder was grand but sparsely populated with a loaf of bread that had gone hard, a half-onion, a bit of mustard, and a chunk of cheese that was starting to dry. She hunted for dishes and found some — steak knives, butcher's knives, peeling knives, carving knives in one drawer, all of the metal bitey and rusting. Another had spoons and ladles and spatulas of all kinds, and another with serving cutlery and silverware that looked like it'd been napping for a century. Muttering to herself, she opened cabinets to find a similar problem — simple china, elegant china, and up top a beautiful set of crystal, all stacked neatly and covered in dust. Another one housed teacups and cocoa mugs and wine glasses and drinking horns and flutes and things crowded together and yawning.

"Reign in the dust, he says. Hah! Like that will be an easy task!"

She picked out a plate, a knife, a teacup, a pot, and placed them in the sink. Another cupboard had tea that was likely older than she was, pastas, oats, and jars of things she couldn't readily identify. She wrinkled her nose and tried another, finding mixing bowls and casserole dishes, frying pans of a dozen different sizes… This one had nothing but pots and pots and pots!

"Goodness gracious… What a wasted kitchen. Gretchen would weep."

Gretchen was the head cook at the Masterlys, a kindly lord and lady who had given her room and board and occupation after Carolyn had started courting. She'd meant to be a parlor maid, but she didn't have the discretion, and the cook liked her better. Not that she'd ever done much more than skin potatoes and wash dishes in those days. And she _would_ weep to see such fine copper pots hiding in the dark like unwanted treasures. She rummaged about and found a kettle, though it was admittedly far larger than she would have liked. Another had silverware with enough tea for fifty, surely, and she wondered at what on earth he meant by having such a store in a house with one person in it.

"…Wizards truly are mad, aren't they?"

By this point, she was rummaging for fun. The breadbox was not empty but had a handful of wrapped sweets in it, which made her giggle. Another cabinet had some scrubbing things that she snatched up, and an aptly named broom closet also had a mop and a bucket and a few boxes of soap bars that she was almost surprised to find. She grabbed one, and a dishcloth and experimented with the sink until she had water hot enough to clean, but not to make lobster.

When she finished breakfast, she confiscated the cleaning supplies and marched back up to her room with a bucket of hot water. She swept the floors and the walls as high up as she could reach, and then mopped it all down, stairs and all. She even did the hallway. She'd decided to reward herself with a pot of tea when the dragon finally came in, eyes wide and surprised. The hair stood up on the back of her neck, and she'd half a mind to reach for the broom if it tried anything. As if a broom might stop a two-headed dragon.

"Are you cleaning?" one of the heads asked. Both of them blinked at her, and she tried not to find it eerie.

"…Yes. Yes, I am."

"Why?" asked the other.

She pursed her lips. "Well, I'm the caretaker. That's what I do. Clean things."

The bespectacled head blinked at the stove instead. "Is that a _kettle?_ "

" _Yes_ , it's a kettle. What, have you not seen a kettle before?"

"Not in a very long time," the other admitted.

…She considered that a moment. Perhaps this place had been… busier, in another time. Just like she had been more than a housemaid once. "Well… I found it. And washed it. Been doing lots of finding and washing today. I felt like tea." And she sipped her tea, determined not to let his two-headed pet ruin it for her, old and stale and odd-tasting as it was.

"Might we have a cuppa?" There was something incredibly strange about watching a dragon attempt puppy dog eyes. His claws tugged at one another, and a serpentine tongue flicked around his lips.

"Please? It's been a _very_ long time…"

"Well… Alright," she said. She heard him let out something like a coo behind her as she pulled it off the fire and turned on the sink, making sure it was cold before she filled the kettle.

After all. Who was going to argue with a dragon?

Once Argee had been settled, she finished her own tea, looking about the place. The first battle, she decided, was to clean the kitchen. She started with the everyday china, pulling it all off the shelf and queuing it up for the sink, and cleaning out the cupboard before putting them back. By the time she'd finished that, she was hungry for dinner, and then did fancy china as well. The kettle, it seemed, was like a mating call to the dragon. They shared a cup of tea, one sipping, and then the other, while they clutched it together. It didn't much mind what it was drinking, but cooed like a bird as it sipped. It was kind of like a guest, so to speak, and it made her smile to think every time she had a fancy for another cuppa, there would be two more faces besides her own. The tiny table at the window was only big enough for one person, so the dragon perched at the end of the counter on one of the stools that a cook's mate might sit at when working potatoes and vegetables, so they didn't exactly sit together, but she supposed the tail would give one a bit of trouble. When the sky outside the window was black and dotted with stars and her eyes started to droop, she promised herself sleep, and finished the last of the serving platters. _Crystal tomorrow_ , she thought and went to bed.

In the morning, the window in her room was still fogged, but not raining. She wondered idly if there was a magick fog that kept her from seeing out her window and humored the thought. She was surprised to find milk in the larder where it wasn't before and sniffed it first. Porridge, with a little onion and cheese. The crystal took much longer than she'd thought, her muscles aching from yesterday's work, and she was on the counter, wiping out the cupboard while they dried when she heard footsteps.

With a gasp, she flung herself from the countertop, and quickly checked for boot marks, not wanting the Master to see her make his house _more_ a mess, even if such a thing were hard to do. She was wiping her hands on a dishtowel when he ducked into the room, that nervous smile on his lips.

"Hello, there."

"M-morning, Master," she replied, and a curtsy.

His smile brightened. "Still here, then? I was worried you'd be lost to the dust, same as everything else."

"Ah, no, Master. Just… cleaning the kitchen." She nodded, not knowing what else he expected of her. "I, err, have just been feeding myself, sir. You said not to worry about you, right?"

"Right, right…" He eyed the crystal, curious, and cocked his head as if he'd never seen it before. "…Right. Say, speaking of. Going to hit the grocer's later. Do you need anything?"

 _Need anything? I don't HAVE anything_ , she wanted to say, but she bit her tongue. "Um… Some more vegetables? Maybe meat. We're running low on bread." She looked shyly to the larder where only a crust of that bread was left. There were a couple of other cabinets of spices and things that she hadn't gone through yet, and she knew she might need a lot more things. But the bare necessities would be good. "And maybe tea."

His posture brightened. "Oh, you're a tea drinker, are you? That's splendid! I, ah… I might have guests by on a very rare occasion. Well…" He rolled his eyes. " _Guest,_ more like. I know he loves his tea. If he should drop by, would you be so kind as to make us some?"

"Of course, Master," she answered with another curtsy. "I was a parlor maid once before. I've not much experience serving, but I've a little."

"Excellent." The smile felt genuine this time, and he topped his head with a cap. "Well, I'm off. Not sure when I'll be back. Take care of yourself?"

"Of course, Master," she said again. Another curtsy. He bowed as well, perhaps a bit lower than she thought reasonable, but she didn't say anything. She tiptoed to the doorway to watch him go down the stairs and listened to his boot marks go down the hall and through the swinging doors. She hummed to herself, curious, and looked back up to the cabinets.

"Hmm. What a curious man."


	5. The Man With Bells

It was five days before the promised visit happened. By then, she'd finished the pots and pans, the bowls, the silverware… The knives had her more worried than anything, and she didn't dare touch the silverware at all, but she had gone through the jars of things and thrown out anything that smelt suspicious. She'd also had a number of impromptu tea parties with Argee, and was getting the hang of it — Guil spoke with a little more eloquence, and always seemed to have his nose in a book. He was all fancy thought and concepts, but he seemed simple when it came to the more mundane things. Rose had more of a growl to his brother's birdlike trill and was very down-to-earth and blunt. He also had a penchant for mischief and sharp wit for raucous jokes. The pair of them talked of the Master with a wistfulness that reminded her of her father, all lost memories and good old days, but a lot of it seemed so long ago. They also constantly referred to the place as "the castle", and she found herself thinking that way, too.

It was hard to tear herself away from the kitchen, a comfortable domain as it had become, but she eventually ran out of things to do but clean and cook, so she kept moving on with her broom and mop to the brown door in the hall was a room that she vaguely recalled from her first visit, with a writing desk and bookshelves and a couch and small table that she dubbed a study. With a damp cloth, she wiped down each of the books and the shelf itself, intrigued by the title-less tomes and odd encyclopaedias — five of them from one collection, three from another, and two more that didn't match. They were different numbers, different letters, and then a collection of journals — some empty, and some filled with hand-drawn notes and diagrams and symbols that she didn't understand. The desk was scattered in paperwork, and she wondered if maybe it was some halted project, and she didn't really have the confidence to go through the desk if maybe these were source materials for his work. She ventured downstairs to mop the first-floor hallway as well, and had been surprised to see that the turning doors opened into a _shop_ of all things!

She'd squeaked in surprise, and the shopkeep glared over his shoulder at her, eyes black like coal and annoyed, his hair like Celtic fire. She gulped and muttered an apology with a curtsy, and hurried back to what she knew. She wiped down walls in the upstairs hall, and the stairwells the rest of that day and the next — whilst cleaning, she found that if you didn't pay attention, the stairs would keep going on. She'd thought herself mad until she'd marched upstairs in exasperation and opened a door at the top that opened to an entirely _new_ corridor and about fell _down_ the stairs in her fright — at which point she went back downstairs to the first floor to wipe down the doors there, too. This time, the shopkeep ignored her, so long as she stayed on her side of the doors, and she decided that the shop was _his_ responsibility, not hers. She cleaned the walls and the floors and avoided the apothecary stores, but was pleased as punch when after tea, she came down and the little sitting-room was back. After she'd cleaned and mopped it up, rearranged the pillows in a handsome manner, and even brought down that lovely candle from the kitchen, she got the message.

"GUEST!" the dragon cried, flailing its arms, eyes wide with terror, prancing about from one foot to the other. "Stop what you're doing! A guest is coming! The Master wants tea! Be ready!"

She pursed her lips, looking down at the candle she'd _just lit_ and had half a mind to say something about it. _Lovely timing_ , she thought, wondering if someone wasn't spying on her, but she went upstairs to set up a tea tray anyway.

The kettle was still bubbling when a bell on the wall rang that she was certain hadn't been there before, labeled with _Garden Door_. Mostly because it still needed dusting. She eyed the little bells, quite certain that she couldn't reach that without some good climbing if it was there when she got back at all.

"Well, that'll be him…" she muttered to herself, and she took the kettle off the heat, not wanting it to go off in her absence. She wiped clean her hands and dried them on a towel as she made her way down the stairs, anxious not to trip and make an embarrassment of herself. But she couldn't help her curiosity — he was the first guest she had, and she wanted _so_ to please the Master.

What she didn't expect was the absolutely gorgeous man at the door. He had a brilliant smile and a face that just made her _happy_ , his garb a symphony of bright colors that marked him as a wizard, and he even bowed with a "How do you do?" which she answered with an awed curtsy. She closed the door behind him, her heart all a flutter, and forgot herself a long moment.

"What is your name, sir?" she asked, cocking her head to one side. He paused, his hands stopping in the elaborate occupation that was peeling the beautiful red leather gloves from his hands.

And he laughed — it wasn't really amusement nor derision, but the kind of zeal a teacher has when a student asks a particularly good question. "As I am a wizard, you should know that is not an easy question to answer." He pulled off the last of the second skin, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. "As I travel, I like to introduce myself as Jefferson, but to my paramours, I am merely Jack." He winked at her, then, and she found herself noticing his perfect teeth, brilliantly blue eyes, and carelessly gorgeous chestnut curls. He was truly rather handsome, and he adorned himself in jewel tones and intricate embroidery, every piece uniquely tailored to his exquisite form, even if it didn't quite match the rest of his ensemble. "Around here, however, the Master of the House calls me Montmorency." He shrugged, and she could have sworn there was the sound of bells as he moved. "It's a curious title, but it's growing on me, little by little." His eyes swept over her quickly, and she almost felt like he was trying to see through her skin. "What about you, precious?"

The name was what caught her, reminded her of who — or _what_ — she was, and she blushed. His words were as charming, flattering, and unorthodox as his wardrobe. "I don't know if he calls me anything," she confessed. His brow lifted. "He usually just addresses me directly, but given my status…" She shrugged, her head bowed, modest.

"You think because you're just the housekeeper, he doesn't call you by name?" Actually, she was certain he _was_ trying to look through her. His eyes glistened, sharp and attentive, like a cat watching a very pretty bird. "On the contrary. Words are power, and a name gives you power over a person. Particularly if you happen to be a sorceror." He shrugged off his coat, then, and the bells rang once more. "By not calling you by name, he is actually showing you a great deal of respect." Heavily shadowed eyes looked down to the coat as he shook it straight (the bells again — so they were in the coat!) and folded it neatly lengthwise. He held it out to her, and she took it, her fingers touching the fine needlepoint with as much appreciation as she felt would be appropriate.

"Your Master favors you highly." He nodded to the jewel on her finger, which was as faceted with colors as his coat. "Do not take that lightly." He flashed a last smile before continuing down the hall, calling up the stairs for the dragon.

She pondered his words as she put his coat up on the hook, and Argee appeared, eager for small talk that was more than a little flattery, she was sure.

"And your Master, he is well?"

"Oh, very well, sir, very good!"

She glanced over her shoulder and saw a doorway that wasn't there before. And she frowned, stepping into it. It was the kitchen!

_How curious_. She sought out the kettle, and put it back on the stove, listening to them talk through the open doorway.

"In fact, if I may say so," Rose was saying, "Your acquaintance has made _quite_ a difference. Not just for us, but the whole house — it's an almost tangible change."

"Yes! Did you see? We even have a caretaker now!"

She blushed, realizing she'd been staring at the tea tins without actually reading them as she listened, and grabbed one at random.

Jefferson laughed, a merry, ringing sound. "I did meet her on my way in…"

"You can see the _floor_ now!" Guil insisted.

_It was rather awful_ , she agreed. It still needed a lot of work, but at least the walkways were clear. The ones she had found already, anyway.

"…Yes, I can see that. It's Lorelai he calls her, right?"

She fought the urge to curse. _He'd asked me my name_ , she realized. _And I gave him such a stupid answer._

"Yes, well, you know how he is," Rose grumbled. "Insists on renaming everything in the house."

"Yes, if I remember right, she's named after a siren or something…"

She paused, checking a tin of biscuits. A siren?

"Yes, an Irish siren. The kind that sits on cliffs and lures young sailors to their death with their beauty…"

Jefferson chuckled so low she almost didn't hear it. "She's certainly pretty enough to be a siren."

_Such impropriety!_ she thought to herself, cheeks burning. Talking about the help in such a suggestive way! He should be ashamed of himself. Still… Lorelai was a rather pretty name. Being given a working name was not unheard of, wizards or not. There were far worse things.

As it was, she couldn't decide what exactly to put on the tray. She had never really done tea service before by herself. Sugar? Milk? There was little enough left, but it would have to do. Cookies, biscuits, chocolates? She took a long moment to seriously consider what she usually had with tea, and couldn't think of a damned thing. She ended up putting just a little bit of each on the tray, wondering if the sitting room would be cooperative. She also wondered why the Master seemed to think cookies were more a priority when shopping for food than fresh vegetables when left to his own devices.

"There was also Scheherazade, the storyteller."

"Mm… Yes. She was a lovely lady."

"Very lovely. You would have liked her, I think."

"Ah, yes… I remember you mentioning her before…"

The pot whistled at last, and Lorelai warmed the pot before filling it, carefully making the tray with two cups-and-saucer. Perhaps she was expected to entertain company as well, while the Master was away? Even if she wasn't, she found herself a bit excited by the prospect of a face in the castle that didn't have scales on it.

This time, the castle was kind. The nearby open doorway led to the sitting room that had first greeted her at the entrance to the castle. She puzzled over the walls, wondering if the kitchens had a habit of swapping places, but only for a moment — she could wonder at the magick later, in the silence and solitude. She'd a guest to attend to.

Fortunately, Jefferson and the dragon had moved as well. "Ah, here she is." Jefferson was seated in a large armchair, his limbs lying as they wished, giving a grand impression that he was quite comfortable here. The caretaker had the fleeting fancy that perhaps he was actually the Master in disguise.

Determined not to fail in case it was, she brought the tray to the low table in the middle of the circle of seats. "Would you like some tea, sir?"

"I would love a cup, precious," he answered, with such warmth. "We were wondering where you'd gone off to."

She kept her eyes on the teapot as she poured, careful not to spill anything. Don't fill it all the way, in case he wants milk. "I was just in the kitchen. It followed me, see. You need only have called, sir."

Would he realize that meant she'd heard them talking? About sirens and lovely ladies? She secretly hoped he would, and apologize. Or perhaps he had meant her to hear?

She placed the cup and saucer before him before looking up once more. For all of his carefree cheer, his eyes were sharp and calculating. "I'm not sure how you like it."

He sat up in the chair, pulling his lounging spine into something straighter, and more attentive. "Well, let's see what the lady brought us, eh?" He rubbed his hands together and swept his eyes over the tray. "Cookies, biscuits— _chocolates!_ " He stole a small flower carved of rich milk and white chocolate and popped it in his mouth with a pleased murmur. His nimble fingers lifted lids, and he marked the contents with approving sounds. Humming quite merrily, he poured a dollop of milk in his tea and a generous five cubes of sugar. He debated for a moment and added a sixth.

He gave her a wicked, beautiful smile. "Forgive my rudeness, precious, but I have one _hell_ of a sweet tooth."

She smiled at him and curtsied. "It's quite alright, sir." Even though it truly wasn't, it also wasn't exactly her place to say so.

He plucked up a spoon and stirred, the clinking of metal on porcelain reminding her of childhood tea parties, in which otherwise polite young ladies made as much noise as they wanted to while gossiping about dolls and dresses. She felt the smile grow genuine on her lips and with it a certain fondness for this odd man.

"So," he said, tapping the white from his spoon back into the cup. "Lady Lorelai." He leaned back into the chair, the porcelain perched in his fingers. "What can I learn about Sully's beautiful new caretaker?"

She was most _certainly_ an impressive shade of red. "You flatter me, sir. I'm no lady." _Not anymore._

"Jefferson, please," he replied. "And I only speak the truth. Your modesty is very becoming." He winked at her.

She bit her bottom lip, looking away.

He gave a heavy sigh. "Yes… So beautiful." He sipped at his tea, his eyes not leaving her.

She looked up under her lashes, not knowing what to do with this attention when he spoke again.

"…Even your tea is lovely, my dear."

Her lips twitched. "How can you tell? You drowned it in cream."

He chuckled, and the sound sent a warmth in her bones. "And she is of a sharp mind. I can see why he picked you."

At that, her smile faltered. She looked down, this time in shame. "I can't say that I was picked, sir."

"Oh, you'd be surprised how observant wizards can be."

She frowned, but couldn't think of anything appropriate to say. Instead, she settled on, "As you say, sir."

The wizard who introduced himself as Jefferson stayed for five cups of tea, punctuating curious anecdotes of odd peoples in faraway worlds with rather inappropriate flatterings. She took each compliment with kindness but grew more and more wary. The dragon was hanging on his every word, fascinated, but all she could think about was the Master, and why he had a guest here when he had yet to arrive home. Despite her wishes, no clock had yet appeared to tell her the time, and she modified her note to find one she could carry with her if this was to happen again. Minutes felt like hours, while she played unwilling hostess to this eccentric person, who ate what he liked and how he liked and asked her time and again for more tea. He had just finished a story about a little boy and a djinn that she hadn't found very funny at all (thought might have, had she not been so worried), when he sipped the last of his cup.

He stared at it a moment, frowning. She could have sworn his eyes turned black for a moment, and he spoke with a note of impatience in his voice.

"What time is it, precious?"

She bit her lip, fingers toying with her skirt, and tried to remember how you gave a lord your regrets to not knowing a question. Thankfully, Rosencrantz answered instead.

"It's 4:14. Or thereabouts."

"Oh, _blast_." He put his cup back in its saucer and stood. She joined him, her heart soaring with hope. He whipped around the corner, collecting his coat, a jangling of bells as he swung it around his person. "The Devil is late. I truly can't be bothered to wait any longer." He pulled his gloves out of his pockets and pulled them on his fingers. "My dear, it's been lovely. Tell your master I came by and was _quite_ patient. I'll just have to see him at Temple sometime."

"Err, _yes_ , sir." She gave a curtsy, a grateful smile on her face. _Temple_ , she noted. So he knew Solomon the Sorceror. — Oh, of course! Sully! It made sense, now. "I will make certain he knows."

Guil whined, ears tucked back. " _Must_ you go?"

Jefferson gave him a fond smile and even scratched him under the chin. "I must, dear children. I must. The Lady Mayberry has invited me for dinner, I am already late." He moved to Lorelai, and give her a most unwarranted kiss on the temple that made her stiffen. "It was lovely meeting you, precious. I'll see you again!"

She watched him with wide eyes, shocked yet again at his impropriety, and he went right out the door as he'd come in, the urgent shut echoing in the hall.

She let out a scoff. And another! "Rude! Improper! Precious, why I never!" She stamped indignantly at the closed door. "Ruffian!"

There was the tittering sound of laughter, and she turned to scowl at Argee. Guildenstern clasped a claw over his snout while Rosencrantz just grinned devilishly.

"He is a ruffian," Rose agreed. "But quite honestly, that's what we love about him."


	6. Golems Don't Eat Lunch

The Master did not come home that evening, and she turned in, fretting. So much so, that she didn't sleep very well, and eventually decided that perhaps a pot of chamomile would calm her nerves. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she found the Master in her kitchen.

She was then startled by the thought that, after only a week, she'd already thought of it as _her_ kitchen. She greeted him with a tired smile as he hunched over a mug of something that smelt strong and bitter.

"Good morning."

Brown eyes swam in a sea of pink, and his scowl was deep and brooding, made more so with a dark coating of morning growth. "Is it?" His voice was cracked and full of loathing. She made a note to herself that the Master was not a morning person. At least, not in the middle of the night.

She puttered about, setting a kettle for hot water, and debated making herself a snack. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed he had no plate — just the coffee. Before she had a chance to decide if she ought to cook him something, he drained the last of his cup and left it there on the counter, rising to leave.

"Would you like me to make you something to eat?" she asked, deciding to at least _offer_ before he slipped away.

To her surprise, he hesitated at the doorway. But he only turned his head and said, "No," in a very tired voice. "But it's kind of you to ask."

She sipped and went back to bed. When she came down for breakfast, the dragon was sleeping wrapped around the small table. This made her giggle and woke him as well.

"Well, well. The kitchen is suddenly a popular place," she noted. "I wonder if that's entirely my fault."

Guil gave a great yawn while Rose grumbled and tried to sleep again, and she tried not to be too nervous about the sheer amount of teeth.

"It smells like coffee," Guil cooed. "I thought you drank tea?"

"I do," she answered. "The Master was in here last night. Or… rather, this morning." She frowned. "Hard to say. There isn't exactly a clock in here."

"Isn't there?" Guil's head cocked to one side as if listening for something. "…Hold on. I hear one. It's coming now."

She blinked at him. "A clock is coming?"

"Yes," he answered as if this were obvious. "The castle will provide." And with that, he decided to join Rose back in sleep, and Lorelai made herself eggs, a little confused.

What he had meant, she later found, was that a new room had appeared in the "second-floor" hall (which she used loosely because really, the stairs and rooms moved as they had a mind to), and she did indeed find clocks! As if someone had laid them out for her on the small coffee table in front of a plum-colored couch: a small silver pocket watch, a handsome wall clock for the kitchen, and another little one for a table, with a beautifully wrought gold frame. The rest of the sitting room looked like it hadn't been touched for as long as she'd been alive! She took to it with the cleaners, tossing out the probably decades of neglect from a handsome fireplace that was thankfully empty of ash, but instead full of cobwebs. The walls were lined with bookshelves stuffed with more of the miscellaneous encylopaedias, and after doing her best to put the tomes back as she found them, she attacked the windows until her stomach started growling at her well into the afternoon. She returned to the kitchen and found the dragon once more at his perch, but Guil had in the meantime collected a book, his spectacles once more on the tip of his nose, his golden eyes flickering back and forth, while Rose snoozed on his shoulder. He looked up at her as she entered.

"Milady," he greeted. He set in a bookmark. "How can I help you?"

She tore her eyes from the cover that was written in some exotic language she didn't recognize, reminding herself it was rude to stare. "Hmm? Oh, nothing. I'm just hungry is all." She took to the icebox, pondering again what to eat. It was becoming a bit tedious, cooking for herself, but it would be good practice if the Master did end up taking up her offer some time.

Guil cocked his head at her. "Hungry?"

She laughed. "Yeah, hungry. It _is_ well past lunchtime." He stared. "What? Never heard of 'lunch' before?"

He frowned, looking down at the book. "It… Sounds familiar. I'm better with details than concepts. Rose is asleep."

She… wasn't sure how to take that. "It's… a meal. A person has to eat pretty regularly to keep up their energy. Particularly when working hard, or else you're liable to just… fall on your feet." A block of cheese caught her eye, and she set about making a sandwich. "You can't tell me the Master doesn't _eat_." But as soon as it left her mouth, she reasoned he wasn't around much. Always coming and going, with work. Perhaps the dragon hadn't noticed. _She'd_ never seen him eat… "By the way, is he still home? I've been working in the sitting room, and I haven't heard a peep from him all day."

"Consider it a good thing." Guil and girl both turned to watch Rose's head shiver before one eye blinked open. "Really, you two. I'm trying to sleep."

"Sorry. The lady here was just getting…" He looked to her. "Lunch, right?"

Rose blinked. He lifted the cover of Guil's book with a curious claw. "Of course she's getting lunch. Humans need to eat."

"Ah! That's a mortal thing, then."

Rose looked to Lorelai with forced patience. "Yes."

She started cutting pieces for her sandwich on the counter. "I take it you two don't eat?"

"Not really. Unless the Master wants something kept."

"Yes!" Guil said, smiling. "We have all kinds of strange things sitting in our belly. Mind, if we ever get a tummy ache it's always a bother to find out which thing is being upset."

"A whole cacophony of alarms conveniently stored in a dragon's belly," Rose finished, sarcasm extra dry, fresh from sleep.

She laughed. "That is rather odd." She dressed the bread and paused. "…So he really doesn't want me making him meals?"

"He usually doesn't keep regular meals, lunch or otherwise," Rose replied, but his eyes drooped again. "Although I dare say if you brought him something to eat, it might endear you to him a little bit more."

"Like what?"

"Beats me. I don't eat."

Lorelai and Guil watched him rub his head on his brother's shoulder and get comfortable once again. Guil smiled softly. "If I recall," he whispered, "He's very fond of roast beast. White cheese, and a little bit of mustard."

"That's terribly specific," she whispered back.

"I'm good with details." He gave her a wink and returned to his book.

Despite her well-meaning, there was neither roast beast or white cheese in the larder. Wishing didn't make it appear, and she wondered what the rules were for magick, exactly. When she was finished, she hesitated going back to the sitting room, just to polish books and put them back in the same spot, only dusted. She had the feeling he would never read any of those books ever again. Maybe they were just part of the decoration, by this point. And when she did convince herself to just go and do it, she found that the kitchen had situated itself on the first floor again.

_All this marching about_ , she grumbled to herself. _Gods forbid more rooms start showing up… Imagine if this place truly were a castle? A magick one that only shows me a little here and there to keep me sane…_ The thought filled her with dread, as she eyed the white door with the lock, thinking of the still-missing apothecary, and dared to test the handsome set of double doors…

Inside was a _library_. The one from when she'd first arrived. _Now that is more like it!_ She could easily lose herself in here after the day's chores… Maybe take something up to one of the sitting rooms, or her bedroom…

She wandered through the aisles and found Argee in a section labeled _Paranormal & Supernatural Phenomenae_, not paying her much mind as he set back the book he had been reading earlier. Feeling a bit mischievous, she jumped out with a little "Rawr!" and the squawk Quil shrieked out was well worth it, even as Rose let out a bunch of huffy protestations in languages she didn't know.

"REALLY!" Rose snorted, a puff of smoke in his nostrils. Guil coughed beside him. "Sneaking up on a dragon! In a library, no less! You're a reckless one, aren't you?"

She giggled. "I thought you would be sporting, Rose."

Guil was fanning himself. "…I think I nearly spat up the pressure gauge."

"Reckless!" Rose said again, and the dragon stomped off upstairs.

Giggling, she followed him to apologize. Rose grumbled, but Guil agreed to forgive her. She asked about the misplaced books, and the dragon agreed to help her put the encylopaedias and things in the library where they belonged. When she returned to the study to collect the ones she'd noticed, she happened upon a blank notebook lined in a blue cover, the same shade of her door… She wasn't sure if that was the castle listening again or her superstition, but she took it as an omen and adopted it as her own. She decided she'd done quite a bit in the last few days to warrant a break. She looked about for the mysterious third floor, hoping to explore, but the new sitting room was all that was there. So she put up that new clock in the kitchen, grabbed the smaller one, and went downstairs again to put it in the sitting room.

Quite pleased with herself, she returned to the library and picked a corner at random, pulling the books off the shelf carefully, keeping them in order, wiping the shelf down and each book. Argee eventually returned, keeping a wide birth and one eye on her, and she grinned every time Rose gave another _huff_. She made it through Atlases of this world and worlds she'd heard of, and ones she'd thought were only myths, and still more, and caught herself reading them more often than _cleaning_ them. She wondered if she might be able to read them if the Master would mind. He didn't mind the dragon reading them, and he had _claws_. She forced herself to finish the section before getting dinner, and by the time her tummy was growling protests so loud even Argee was giving her odd looks, she got much more efficient at just _wiping_ without wondering where in the stars a place like _Swizerland_ was… And practically skipped back upstairs to find something for dinner. As she took stock of what they _did_ have for food, she made a note for the next grocery run, if the Master should ask for one again. She found turkey in the larder and decided to experiment with a sauce she'd found in one of the jars that was a dark brown, cloyingly sweet, and a bit woodsy and spicy… It had a mellow heat to it that she thought would favor a roast, and shredded it up and mixed up. It was messy but mildly entertaining. The dish was wonderful cold, but even _better_ warm with a bit of bread and cheese. She fancied that the Master might like it one day, and kicked her feet, eating and sharing tea with Argee, before they all went back down to the library — Argee to read, and for her to try and _clean_ and read.

Xx

It was another three days before she found the Master in her kitchen again. He was perched on the stool at the edge of the counter, hunched over a bowl. He looked up at her as she entered but stayed where he was, looming over what she realized was a forgotten batch of sauced meat that she had pulled out of his cabinets, and not cared for. Her first thought was to chide him for not calling her to cook it for him, but his guilty expression as he hid his meal made her stop. By the looks of it, he'd downed half the bowl already. And judging by the way his jowls chomped, his fingers at the edge of the bowl, another morsel already waiting for his parted lips, he was still very hungry.

_It means more than you know,_ he'd said. Was this a cry for help?

"Is it any good?" she asked instead.

His jaw paused, before continuing and concluding with a _gulp_. "Yes." His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat. "It's fine."

His eyes watched her as she took the kettle from the stove, and filled it with water. She took a match and lit the flame, setting the kettle to boil. When she leaned on the counter to watch him again, his chewing had slowed considerably. "Will you be home for dinner?"

His eyes looked down to the food once more. His fingers hesitated to take from the dish. "I don't know," he answered. "What… time is dinner?"

She smiled. "What time do you get home?"

Brown eyes dared a glance before idling over the bird. "Late. Ten, maybe eleven."

She nodded. "Eleven it is." She glanced up at her wall clock, marking the time.

He licked his lips, she hoped in anticipation of a proper meal. Lorelai took to the icebox. "Would you like some cheese and bread with that?"

His answer was timid. "If you like."

She poked through a drawer. "Do you like onions?"

The question caught him by surprise. "Er… Yes."

She nodded to herself and took out the things for a sandwich. It was simple — bread, cheese, a slice of onion, and a little jelly spread — but she made one for each of them. She set the plate before him, resisting the temptation to take his bowl, and then the kettle whistled. She took the water from the fire and warmed a pot. She served them each a cup, setting the steeping tea on the counter between them, and sat down to the snack herself.

He took a bite, his face frowning at the idea, but as he chewed, his expression softened.

"It's an odd family recipe," she explained. "Once, we had a larder with only cheese, bread and onions. My mother put them all together on a whim and rather liked it. What's more, she found it to be rather filling. It changes a little depending on what you have.". Oh, yes. Ladylike though she may be, her family had been poor once upon a time. She'd known hunger… had known what it was like to go three days without a proper meal, to where cheese and onions filled you rather well. To envy the horses and dogs that ate better than you did.

Her Master only nodded, although whether it was genuine fascination or polite curiosity, she couldn't say. But he took another bite anyway. As much as she wanted to take it as a compliment, the phrase _when you're starving, everything tastes good_ came unbidden to mind.

By the time the tea was ready to be served, he'd nearly finished it. She poured as he ate, and then watched him add two sugars to his cup. He paused, cup almost to his lips. "…Yes?"

"Hmm?"

He seemed unnerved. "You're staring."

"Oh." She blushed. "I'm sorry, sir. I meant no offense. Just… watching. So that next time I make tea, I know how you like it. Is this blend alright for you?"

He stared at her a moment, and his lips quirked in a small smile, though his eyes frowned. "You are refreshingly observant, my dear," he complimented. "And to be honest, I've lost the taste for tea. I'm afraid it's all leaf water to me these days. Just a mite too bland." He washed down the odd snack and had the decency to be embarrassed.

"I will keep that in mind, sir," she replied. She sipped her own tea and nibbled, watching him to make certain he finished. He looked rather pleased with life as he stood, taking a last piece of meat.

"I thank you, milady," he said, bowing in familiar kindness. "You might save me yet."

The smile didn't reach her eyes as she nodded in kind. "Just doing my job, sir."

He gave her another soft smile that did feel genuine, and left the room, a distinct limp to his step. She listened to him go, opening a door and up some stairs that she was quite certain wouldn't be there if she followed. She took another bite of memory and chewed on this new development. She was his caretaker, so making sure he was fed between his work was most certainly her job, judging by the encounter. And now, she had to find a way to do it better.

For the next three days, she made a point of napping midday so that she could make the Master dinner. It wasn't much, at first, more of that sauced something he liked, served as a sandwich, but even those blasted bells stayed put long enough for her to clean them, and one would ring when he came home.

Dinner was served with tea the first night, and then more successfully with simple water. The bread and cheese and onions were joined the second day with a head of lettuce and tomatoes, so she cut up a salad and baked chicken, which was admittedly bland as rice cakes. She spent the third day buried in cooking books (only two of which actually got cleaned), seeking a mix of spices and herbs that would make it more bearable, and this time, when he came home he didn't wait to be summoned, but sat in the kitchen and waited rather impatiently, hands and feet fidgety as he basked in the smell of it.

After dinner that night, he pulled out his "coffee" and she watched him make it. She tried it, but found it harsh and bitter, though perhaps it was an acquired taste. He sipped it lazily and nibbled on biscuits while she kept to her tea, and after draining his cup, he snatched the last biscuit into his mouth before returning the tin to its place in the cupboard and slinking off to… wherever it was he went. Throughout the evening there were a great number of grateful words spoken that she took kindly at first, and then with murmured thank yous, and finally a great deal of nodding, blushing, and general embarrassment by his exuberance. She watched him go, and let out a breath of relief. After she cleaned everything up and made herself a pot of chamomile (for which Argee joined her, also grateful) she wondered where on earth it was that he disappeared off to, and if maybe the castle hid her from his eyes as it hid the other wings and floors she didn't see, which could be beyond number…

And then she wondered exactly how often he ate _outside_ of the castle, and if his gaunt features might have something to do with personal neglect as much as mysterious magicks.


	7. Guest

"LET ME GO!"

The squealing and screeching was unusual, but the slamming of iron on stone that proceeded was not. Melisa froze, the hand that a moment ago had been anxiously wiping down a table now wrapped around the edge. The sounds of Mordecai's sure boot kept the beat for the scrambling of his roaring victim, who slew curses and cruel names at him, while he just laughed.

"Don't know what you were expecting, dearie!" he called over her noise. "But you can't just slaughter sheep willy nilly and not _pay_ for it!"

She kept on her verbal assault, but the voices moved away. Melisa put aside her task with shaking hands and, after taking a moment to collect her nerves, made her way downstairs to the Grand Hall.

It was a grand room, to be certain — well-cared for and cleaned by herself and her predecessors, of which she didn't doubt there were quite a few. The stone was decorated in rich tapestries detailing some of his greatest achievements — the only exception being the one above the mantle, on which he still battled a dragon, its purple scales appearing black in the dark, but glistening like gemstones in the daylight.

Her hunch was right — when the door opened for him, it was the one that led to the dungeons. Melisa tried not to wonder how often he abducted young women and tossed them in his stone prison, convinced by now that it was how he treated _all_ of his guests. For a selfish moment, she prided herself for not being so unruly upon her arrival and then wondered if her unspoken request for a companion was to at last be answered. But it was only a passing thought and one for which she chastised herself most cruelly. It was with her head bowed in shame that he approached her, and when she looked up, his eyes were watching her, curious as ever, dark with his unholy magicks.

"There you are," he noted, with satisfaction.

Melisa dared not look into the pools, black as hell behind stolen brown. "We... have a guest?"

He sneered. "Only for a few days. Damned thing has been terrorizing villages for a while now. Someone asked me to keep her from their sheep, and I always honor my agreements." He punctuated this with one of his smug, elaborate bows. He prided himself on his dealings, and while she did try to see his side of things when she could, today she could not.

Her eyes wandered to the door that she had avoided for weeks, now. Although it didn't reach her ears, her heart could still hear the pounding and yelling. It shivered her to the core, remembering the dark, and the damp that hung in the air down there.

"Do not pity her."

She turned to him once more. His eyes still held that power, but also the hate and gloom that seemed to fuel it. His voice was low, and warning. "She may appear human, but I warn you: she is a beast. A blood-thirsty killer. And a thief to boot." Cruel amusement overtook warning for the last. She watched him, her eyes alone moving, as he stalked past her, and then heard him take the stairs two, three at a time. She waited until the echo of his boots left her hearing before she turned back to the frightening door.

It was just like any other door, unmarked, but by use. She eyed it as if it were a dragon, too, threatening her with fire to keep away from its trove of ill-gotten treasures. Of course, she had no care for her master's treasures –- not his busts and artifacts and jewels, or the swords and wands he put on display like favored china dolls, boasting his keen trading, scattered about the castle like a lord's museum. She could not make use of any of his magickal artifacts or varying weaponry — she had none of the natural skill or training required. It was only the cleaning that she could attend to, and now the maiden that had been given as payment that bid her come.

It was difficult to find the strength, but she forced her feet toward the dungeon door and opened it as easily as the rest. For a dragon, it was very obliging.

Her hesitation to visit this wing of the castle (and that of her predecessors) was immediately noticeable, as a layer of dust decorated the things on the wall. The floors weren't so bad, dustwise, but there were scuff marks where his captive had struggled.

...Or was it there? No, over...

The blood drained from her face as she counted how many markings there were on the floor from his victims. As she looked to the walls, she realized some of the sconces were damaged, pieces missing, torn off, or broken by desperate, grabbing hands, while some were missing altogether. Her heart raced, the panick rising, and with it the taste of bile. Her mind screamed, and self-preservation dragged her away and hurtled her towards the kitchens.

She came back to herself there, amongst the copper pots and china and iron pans, the things of a woman that interested him not at all. Her fingers clutched the old, worn wood, and she bent over the massive table, gasping for air. She felt she would be ill at any moment, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. She stood there, swaying on her feet, taking gasps, the hot tears stinging her face, and touching her open lips with their salt. Time slipped away from her, but she waited.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. Maybe days, although she doubted it.

Eventually, the fear left her, its sticky hands reluctant to loose their grip, but she gained control over herself once more. Being brave was always a lot harder than anticipated, and it left one shaking like a leaf for some time after.

When she had the nerve to check the time, she realized she was running late on afternoon tea. She silently cursed herself, but kindly – it was a lot to ask a girl, to venture back into those dungeons, after her first stay in them. It was reasonable that she would fail on her first return, and that her mastery of that tricksy dragon would come in its own time.

If he felt the need to reprimand her, he would do a far better than of it than she could. And as distracted as he oft was, what were the chances he would notice she was a mere twenty minutes behind schedule?

Her anxiousness made the kettle take longer to boil, as she watched it and the clock, each minute an hour. She tried to distract herself with pastries and biscuits, but her twitching hands made quick work of them. When the pot finally whistled, she actually cried out for joy and plucked it from the just-filled pot, and gathered the tray into her hands when she turned to find _him_ standing in the doorway.

This time her cry was one of surprise, and she very nearly dropped the tray.

"Master," she breathed. "Y-you startled me."

Seeing that she had maintained control, he released the spell. "You were late for tea." His sharp, hawk eyes searched hers.

She glanced to the table, over which she'd been doubled over, gasping for air for some time. "I'm sorry. I-I lost track of time."

He pursed his lips. "Apparently."

She turned away from his cold, heartless gaze. She instead turned her attention to the tea tray and could see that her neatly arranged cookies had shifted a bit in the chaos, and some spilt tea glistened on the silver tray, but no real damage had been done. When she looked up from her inspection, he was already making his way upstairs, and she followed behind.

Today, they sipped in silence. His fingers clutched at the porcelain, his eyes unfocused, staring at nothing in the center of the table. She nibbled her biscuits, the butter treat and hot tea calming her nerves. She was actually almost feeling warm and content when he spoke again.

"Would you like to bring our guest some tea?"

She looked up in surprise. This time, he said the word without the biting sarcasm. He did brood so, and it always worried her about what.

She rearranged her teacup on its saucer. "As you wish, Master."


	8. Closet of Shinies

Contented with last night's success in the culinary world, Lorelai went to work the next day with a bit of optimism and daring. Daring which had her deciding that today, she was tackling that white door in the second-floor hallway. It'd been there since day one, and it was the only thing left she hadn't cleaned, besides the library, which was really too much temptation for one person to handle. She told Argee as much as she ate her breakfast, and the dragon had protested.

"I've nothing else to do!" she said. "It's just the library and the shop, that's all I can see. And I'm quite certain that's a bit out of _my_ jurisdiction. A day off to read cookbooks is all well and good, but I was on a _roll_ here…" Argee watched as she cleaned up after herself, and followed as she went out to the adventure of the day. She tried the doorknob: it wasn't locked, but neither did it open. She could turn the handle with ease, but the door just wouldn't budge.

"I think it's jammed," she pondered, putting some weight into her shoulder as she pushed.

"Well, don't force it, dearie," Rose warned, his voice soft and wary. But she'd already pulled back, and when her body made contact, the door gave way with a _squelch_ , and then a CRACK! and an indignant jingling from whatever was inside.

She blinked, lips parted, and looked to Argee. Guil had his claws clamped over his snout, eyes wide. Rose was gob-smacked, jaw hanging open in an uncomely display of teeth and a long tongue. Both of them were staring into the room, where the door hesitated mid-swing.

Lorelai grimaced. "Oops?"

They both turned to her, Rose with a sneer and a glare, Guil with a choked sound that might have been hysterical laughter. "An understatement, my dear," the latter replied, lowering his claws. His ears drooped, and he let out a soft whimper as the group at large looked back to the room.

Lorelai's first impression was _dark_. She pushed the door until it tapped against… something, the light spilling in and catching glittering trinkets and sparkling gems.

The dragon's heads reached forward, sniffing the air.

"Oh, that's magick, that is," Rose said with reverence.

"Charms and gifts, I'd say," Guil agreed with a nod.

She took a step into the room, and something glowed from the ceiling. She looked up at a glass — like where one would station a candle — and it lit itself, a warm golden color. As the room awakened, she realized it was crammed with shelving of a metallic variety, and the shelves were then stocked with all kinds of shinies — jewelry, sconces, candelabras, chandeliers, even some bejeweled frames, and a few hand mirrors. A riot of colors danced around her, her mouth open as if she could swallow the delights.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

"It's _cluttered_ is what it is," Guil corrected. "Honest, he's got more stuff than he knows what to do with, he has to shove it all in a closet!"

"It is a damned shame," Rose agreed. His eyes wandered around the room as they stepped into the small space. "…I remember some of these."

Guil reached out a claw to a chandelier, and his brother watched him. He touched a gem, and his spine bristled. "Wow, this thing's even older than the Master. A _lot_ older."

"There's a _lot_ of old magick in here…" Rose breathed, looking up.

The walls were a bit higher than usual, and the shelves kept going up until the top. Everything had a reflective surface, and it was baffling that it was all… locked away into the darkness.

It didn't sit right. Lorelai frowned, looking around at all of these precious things, forgotten and closed away. "Why are they here?"

"What do you mean?" Guil asked.

"Why are they… _here_?" she repeated, gesturing to the tiny room. "Some tiny little room, stuffed with… stuff. All of it glittering and sparkling. One room, just for shinies. What of it?"

"You need a reason to specialize a closet?" Rose mused, his lip tugging to one side.

She put her hands on her hips. "It's suspicious, yeah."

The dragon blinked at her. And then Rose returned his observations around the room, while Guil put a claw to his jaw. "She does raise a good question."

"Indeed," growled Rose.

"Dragons hoard gemstones," Guil said, almost mechanically. "The magick inherent, the potential energy of the light. Reflective makes them nice for scrying. But I think _hoarding_ is the most technical term."

"Dragon hoard, of course," Rose echoed as if it was the most obvious thing. "Some things don't change."

Lorelai scoffed. "The Master is a hoarder? I can't say that's wrong." She thought to the bookshelves crammed with empty journals and miscellaneous encyclopaedias that she found everywhere. "How many rooms are _in_ this bloody place, anyway?"

"Seventeen," Guil answered.

Lorelai blinked at him. "17?"

"Well, seventeen _rooms_ ," he said. "Offices and bedrooms and studies. That's not including the three sitting rooms, the library, the apothecary, the gallery, two kitchens, four attics, three basements…"

"Gods be good," she cursed quietly.

"Guildenstern, please!" Rose protested. "Three dining halls and five bathrooms, yes! Honest! You prattle on and on like a history professor…"

"Well, the construct is _centuries_ old," he replied. "Something like three or six different houses connected to each other, and a few stolen from Goosemire proper. I _still_ say that's trouble, we could be _found_ that way—"

"Oh, stop it! You're insufferable!" Rose growled. "You know what? I want to find your clock. _That_ would be grand."

"Oh, now you're being unkind—!"

"BOYS!"

The two-headed dragon stopped and looked at her, eyes wide. But then Guildenstern raised a finger. "It ought to be four kitchens, but one of them is just a stove in what's now a large sitting room, and one is in the Master's suite, and one is your kitchen and the other is the apothecarian kitchen. Five, if you count the oven in—"

"Oh, for the love of—" Rosencrantz clapped a claw over his brother's mouth.

… _Three or six houses_ , she thought to herself. _And then some_.

"And just where are all these things hiding?" she asked, a little fearful of the answer.

"Everywhere," Rose answered. "They will come to you when you're ready, or when you have need of them. And some you should never venture into. This is a _castle_ , and it can be dangerous."

_Dangerous_ , she thought. "Well… Can I clean this, or not?"

…The dragon looked around as if judging each shelf and considering the answer. And he took his time to answer. And then finally, "Well, I don't _see_ any djinn."

"I don't smell anything particularly hexed."

"A charm here and there, but nothing that will do her any damage."

"Yes," agreed Guil, but he didn't seem convinced. "Nothing that will do her any damage."

He fretted with his claws but finally stepped away.

"Fine. Have at. But don't break anything!" Rose warned, and then huffed, marching towards the stairs. She watched his scales grind on the walls, a soft scraping as they dug at the scratches a little more.

She looked back to the little room, hands on her hips, and sighed.

_Well. That's easily two days' work._


	9. Tea With Wizards

At dinner that night, the Master announced that "Montmorency" would be by for tea the next day, and asked her to prepare some refreshments. She had no idea what the hell she was going to serve, but was relieved to find fresh bread and eggs and vegetables and a few other things in the larder the next morning. She searched the cookbooks again and found a simple egg salad sandwich recipe that she felt confident she could master. Come tea time, she had managed to make the sandwiches, a tray of biscuits and chocolates for the pair of wizards, and the tea and cream that they would require.

This time, Argee was not around to warn her of Jefferson's arrival. Instead, the bell for the garden rang again, only when she was wiping her hands to answer the door, she heard the whine of a door, and the clip of boots. She caught the barest glimpse of a dark shadow pass the doorway, and then the clip of the Master's heel on the stair. This time, she couldn't hear what they were saying, but the kitchen was kind enough to relocate itself downstairs when she went to carry the tray out to them, grateful that the tremor in her hands was not audible through the china.

"Blasted weather, eh?"

"Oh, I was always of the opinion that a good rain was the gods' way of telling you to take the day off," Jefferson chirped. He watched her with kind, sparkling eyes as she poured him a cup. "I'll do the dressing, please."

"I have far too much that needs doing," the Master growled. He much resembled a dragon, she thought, and one could almost see a scaly black tail lashing out behind him. He fussed with one of the decorative pillows, and moved it to a seat he wasn't sitting in. "If only the damned thing would _pass_." His face twisted in genuine distress. "I worry for my garden."

Jefferson tsked, his spoon swirling silently as he killed his cup with milk and sugar. "If it worries you that much, you could always…" He shrugged as if surprised by the ingenious thought. " _Banish_ the storm?"

"Don't think it's not tempting," he purred. She served her master as well — two sugars, as he liked — and he took it. "But _balance_. Other storms for other days — today, it's mine." He pursed his lips as he started to sip. "I just pray my mint isn't the only thing in the ground when all is said and done."

Jefferson gave a long-suffering sigh that bordered on a groan. "Sully, my friend, you really need to get out more." He sipped his tea, and then his eyes lit up as if he was just visited with another epiphany. "Mm!" He put down the cup quickly, careful not to spill anything. His lips parted in joy. "I know! Maybe's having a ball next Saturday. We could go! That would be fun!"

The Master's lips twitched. "Maybe?"

"Well, it's not a 'no'," the wizard noted with mischief. "That's most certainly progress." He winked at the girl, and she blushed, keeping to her own tea. The Master had not specified if she was to stay as they spoke, but neither did he bid her leave.

"Montmorency, I've already told you — I'm not going to any balls. I meant the _name_." He paused for a sip. "Did you call her 'Maybe'?"

He hid his nonchalant expression behind his teacup, his words muffled around the porcelain. "Last time, I called her Mary and she hexed me."

And then the Master _chuckled_. It was a warm, rolling, cheery sound, and it did her heart good to hear it. She imagined Argee heard it, too, wherever he might be hiding, and would be beaming for the rest of the day.

After three cups of tea (well, a cup and a half for the Master) Jefferson begged forgiveness, and the tea party came to a close. Lorelai took the dishes to the kitchen for clean up while the Master bid his guest good day, and as she started the water for the washing, she heard his boots behind her.

"Thank you… For the tea."

She gave him a small nod. "Of course, milord. Will you be needing anything else?"

"Ah… No." He hesitated in the doorway, watching her as if the idea of doing the dishes was as foreign a concept as his magick was to her. He knocked his knuckles on the wood of the threshold, as if wanting to say something, but not knowing how to phrase it. "…No, I'm… I'm fine. But I wanted to let you know that… I won't be home for dinner tonight. I've an engagement elsewhere."

She nodded, making a note. She'd been planning to attempt a noodle bake recipe for dinner, but if he wasn't going to be here, maybe she'd try it tomorrow.

He nodded, too, lips twisting to one side. "…Right. Tomorrow, then. Ah… good night."

"Good _day_ , milord," she replied, knowing she was probably in the wrong to correct him, but he was getting ahead of himself. It was only late afternoon, after all. Good night was only customary after dinner.

It paid off, because he smiled, eyes sparkling in amusement. "Good day," he echoed. Another nod, and then he turned away.

She turned her attention back to the teacups, not aware that she was smiling, too.

xx

The next day, she finished the closet, grumbling to herself about the waste. She prepared dinner and helped herself to a book as it cooked. And then it burned. The grumbling intensified, and the Master got a simple sandwich for dinner. She went to bed kicking herself and swearing off books while cooking for the rest of her life.

And then things got... Interesting. The elusive third floor had revealed itself, the grand staircase that led from the library suddenly continuing up, ending at a plain wooden door that opened to the corridor that had frightened her so, the day she'd been cleaning the stairs. But blessedly, the stairs had stayed clean. This hall was lined in an emerald carpet, and the six (and then eight, and then four) doors were a mix of wood and white and one was a strange banded, boarded door that she was almost certain sounded like horses, and even the kitchen had followed her again. Frustrated, she tried to clean, but the stairs would stretch and shrink, rooms would move, the walls just wouldn't sit _still_. One minute the pillowed sitting room was on the first floor, next it was on the second, and then it would vanish _entirely_. She wondered how on earth Master Jefferson got around, and had the fleeting fancy that it was perhaps why he called out for Argee as soon as he arrived…

She found two more "studies" stuffed with books that really seemed like nothing more than standing space surrounded by bookshelves. She had half a mind that the Master just magicked things away here and there, and this was just where they ended up. It was really a silly habit! Why couldn't he just put them back where they belonged? It was such a trouble! All this dust and wasted space! She was in the process of grabbing whatever numbered encyclopaedias she could see for Argee to put away, when she came back to find the "studies" had vanished again! It was all she could do to keep from stomping and screaming, and she was awfully glad she didn't, because in the midst of mopping the hall (because at least the _hallway_ hadn't vanished yet) one of the white doors opened to the Master, who tried to look very sheepish and went back inside. _So, that's where you've been hiding_ , she thought to herself, taking note of the marking on the white door that she assumed was his workroom, or whatever it is you called the workroom of a wizard. Magick room? Could you _have_ a Magick Room when the entire bloody castle had more magick than it knew what to do with? She grabbed a door at random and found it housed a bathroom, albeit the tiniest bathroom she'd ever seen. She had intended to be quiet, taking to it with trepidation and determination, but as her frustration mounted, she forgot the ambition. She hadn't realized just how much fuss she was making until his voice appeared out of nowhere.

"What are you doing?"

She squeaked, and about banged her head on the wall — she sprawled out, slapping her hands on the white borders, and managed to wrench herself about. She couldn't help but scowl, as he peered down at her. His sharp, shrewd brown eyes seemed to disapprove of her very presence, and his lips sneered. One hand gripped the cane tight, and he leaned heavily against it.

She pursed her lips. " _Sorry_. I've been trying to clean this bloody closet," she growled, attempting to twist herself back into position.

"Closet?" he echoed. "This is a bathroom, dearie."

She glared at him over her shoulder. "Then why is it so _tiny?_ I can hardly fit in here, and I'm tinier than you are! Can't say it's a great idea to have so cramped a space with your leg." She turned back to the toilet with a scowl.

"I manage well enough," his voice replied. And yet, it lacked conviction. She tried to squander a satisfied smirk. "Although, if it would make your job easier, I could help.

"Oh, _could_ you?" She turned back to him with a glare. She had suspected he could. But apparently, like most men, he was oblivious a problem needed fixing unless directly told so. But then, after several decades of the status quo, she oughtn't have been surprised. It didn't help she didn't even know where he _was_ until earlier today. "If you could get things to stop moving around so much as well, that would be _lovely_." She didn't mean to be so rude, but at the same time, she was getting rather tired of all of this… magick nonsense. She had absolutely no experience with a castle that played hide-and-go-seek.

His jaw tightened, but he took a step back. "If you could exit the room, I would be happy to assist in any way I can."

It was diplomatic, and she had enough sense to recognize that he was holding his tongue. Gathering her own frustrations in her arms, she managed to squeeze herself out of the corner of a room and clawed her way to her feet. It was rather undignified, but rather than bemoan the lack of propriety, she hoped that it would be lesson enough for him. It wasn't until she was out of the room, her bucket of suds in the hall, that her curiosity returned. The Master took only a couple of steps forward until he was just in the threshold, and carefully rearranged himself to lean on his left side. He reached his right hand into the room and placed it on the wall.

"You want it bigger, yeah?" he asked.

She nodded, coming beside him to watch his work. His fingers were laid on the white, and although it was a little tricky with the lighting, she could see the borders stretching out and away from the tiny toilet and sink collection. It was slow going, but he remained still, his eyes half-lidded and unseeing while he focused his energy on the room. She glanced at him sideways and could swear she felt a bit of warmth — something thick and scratchy, like woolen blankets. She watched the walls creep, and eventually, his eyes fluttered. Vision came back to them, and he looked to her.

She had the nervous realization that she was standing in the doorway with him. They were almost touching. "Is that enough space for you, milady?" His voice was soft and almost fearful. He watched her out of the corner of his eyes, the bright brown, rich as chocolates, shining with the question.

She forced her eyes to look at the room. She twitched her lips. She pointed at the far wall. "Out a bit more that way."

His eyes flicked back to nothingness, and she marked the view as the wall left them. She let it creep until it had reached a satisfying distance away. "There."

He blinked. Again, he looked at her sideways. "Now?"

She leaned around him, a hand hovering at his arm, to check the sidewalls. She thumbed to the one on the right. "If we move that one a bit more, I think you could fit a bathtub in here."

He gave a derisive sniff. "You intend to bathe in here?"

"A tub is a tub. If I have you here for home improvement, I'm a fool to not use the opportunity wisely." Yes, she'd gotten used to using the washbasin in her room, but the luxury of a bath was something she could not deny was terribly tempting.

A twitch of his lips, and a dancing of his brow. "Fair enough." His eyes unfocused as his magick worked once more. She watched it with a judging eye until it suited her fancy before stopping him once more, her hand actually touching him this time.

He let out a small exhale as he released his hand. "Contented?"

She let the smile dance a little on her lips. "Size-wise."

He gave a discreet clearing of his throat. "You said… a tub? I imagine you want to rearrange things first." He pursed his lips — it wasn't really a question, was it?

She smiled. "If you could? I'd like to have the toilet here, and the sink just there." She gestured to the spots, specifying the direction. It took a couple of tries, but he eventually managed it in the fashion she wanted. An outstretching of his hand took the thing from its one spot to another. The farther it moved, the deeper his scowl got, but he was patient.

"There?" he asked again. It was tedious, and she made a note to make it up to him later. How, she wasn't sure, but she would.

"Yes, perfect," she said. "Now, I don't know if you have a spare tub or —"

In answer, he pointed at the empty space, and a large, ornate white tub appeared. It had lion's claws on its legs, and a spigot burst from the walls, decorated with two handles — one for hot, and one for cold.

His pride shined over his shoulder. "Is that good enough for you, mistress?"

She had the decency to blush. "I… I didn't mean to be so uppity, sir. My apologies."

And yet, he was smiling. Teasing? "Well, we don't want you having to waste an afternoon looking for a tub, do we?"

She peered at him, but he stared right back. There was a testing of wills, there… But she felt that it was amusement, rather than offense. "Perhaps. I wonder if perhaps Argee isn't hiding things from me to make my life more difficult."

At that, he laughed quietly. "Oh, no, Argee manages to lose things on his own." He moved then, his cane tapping on the tile of the bathroom floor, and stepped with ease in the larger space. His eyes judged the work he'd done, and he nodded, more to himself than anything else. Even from this far away, she could feel that the air was… colder. More empty. She couldn't quite express it as sadness, but she felt something missing as he left her side. Was this part of the magick?

"If this contents you," he spoke again, "I actually have use of these facilities." He was turned away from her as he spoke. "If you would be so kind as to let me some privacy?"

It took her a moment to realize what he meant, and then, "Oh! I'm so sorry, sir — Of course. I'll just… find something else to clean, my apologies." With her rushed condolences, she reached for the door and closed it behind her. She almost leaned against it in relief but remembered why she was closing it and decided to instead gather her bucket and indeed find somewhere else to clean.

As she stepped down the hallway, the doors didn't move. And the feeling of cold and emptiness didn't leave.


	10. Black

It's dark. So black, it feels as if the shadows have taken form, corporeal masses that loom in and around the bars, the presence tangible, yet not. It is the baffling weight of magick, and the wolf can't stand it.

The pacing doesn't really help, but the endless counting as she marches the exactly ten steps it takes to traverse the perimeter of her cage… Okay, yes, it's still driving her mad, and she's dizzy, but that just makes her feet shuffle faster, and when she comes out at 11, she growls at herself and insists she tries again until she does it just right. She has managed to make it to three consecutive roundabouts without tripping herself or stepping out of time and is aiming for four.

"…Sev, eight, nine, ten!" she sings. She keeps dancing, forcing her feet to stay in pace. "One, two, three four—!" She turns the corner, and then trips, falling flat on her face with a yelp. It's not embarrassment that renders her speechless, as she looks up to the figure that she can't quite see, and yet the shadow startled her. She can smell it, the reek of screaming, tortured souls. Can hear the hearts that aren't beating. Can see the chaos, the _evil_ , the demon that makes this dungeon blacker than a new moon night, a darkness that doesn't just stifle, but wraps greedy fingers around your throat and squeezes the life out of you.

As she stares, the form becomes visible. It is slight, a man of modest height and a light frame. A flicker of movement, and the quiet snap of fingers in the silence, and a low, red flame alights in the hall. It glows and grows, slow and patient, and her eyes swallow the details with wary hunger. He is indeed slight, his face worn like aged leather — on a mortal, maybe a well-cared-for fifty. He steps toward the cage, still just out of reach (if she'd stood to stretch a paw through the bars; as it is, she stays where she is, belly down on the floor) and he peers at her.

His eyes are a bright, warm chocolate, but at the same time, they are as black as the shadows that smother and red as blood and hellfire. She can feel more than smell the flames and brimstone, the toxic aura of demons, all the pain, and misery they inflict on others tainting them all the more into an oozing, corrosive sludge that their filthy hands smear on anything they touch. There is something of the dragon in him, too, but the cold scales are worn more as a cowl than a second skin. He wears the black of sorcery, but she can see the stains of lifeblood that his clothes seem bathed in. She can feel the fight of things far stronger than her, worn as trophies, gashes, and scars that he's stitched up rather than properly healed, keeping them for show. Sorcerors are not something to meddle with on a good day, but this…

This that is standing before her is certainly a far more dangerous, new kind of horror and evil than she has yet had to face. Now would be the time for fear, she thinks.

This is most assuredly the manner of her death, regarding her through the bars. And yet, instead of panicking, a strange level of calm covers her skin, as the beast inside her submits to the more formidable force. The wolf accepts and is gracious.

That is what allows her to be terrified. Her heart pounds in her ears, the mortal side abandoned by the beast, and she scrambles to the bars, her fingers wrapping around the neglected metal.

"Let me out." It's not a demand or a plea and actually strikes her ears as an obligatory remark.

His face splits into a toothy grin. There is the dragon, but also the demon. Something in her pales as she detects the remnants of children of the moon in his smile.

"Maybe later." His voice is a velvet purr, the lilt a strong, local accent. Strong, like he's been here for far longer than a mortal 50 years.

She doesn't want to stare at his eyes, but they've caught her, and it's a vice grip, red hot and electric, and it _hurts_. Her words tremble: "W-what do you want from m-me?" It's a scarce whisper.

He steps closer, and her fingers tighten, her knuckles protesting. They, too, are covered with demon touch, and it jolts her. The hands take a grip around her neck as well, squeezing until she can only hardly breathe, and only with pain. She wants to pull back, _but she can't move_.

"Oh, I want a number of things from you, dearie," he answers. His actual hands are folded over a black wand, the end of which is capped with a blood-red stone.

_A dragon's stone_ , she thinks with horror.

_Dragonslayer_.

Dragons are no more, everyone knows that. But not too long ago, they still lived among men. There are whispers of the dragons going into hiding. Fools have sought the den of sleeping beasts, but anyone with sense knows it is against the dragon's nature to den in such large numbers. They're too possessive. They hardly tolerate their mates, but to mate every half-century or so. Others say they've slipped into the flesh of man and made a new life there. The skinwalkers, like her, know this to be well within a dragon's reach, and it's what they're taught.

So to _find_ a dragon, hiding as it is in human form, then take its heart, and use it for your own dark sorcery…

He's both very old and _very_ evil.

He steps towards her again, but this time he outstretches an honest hand to join those at her neck, and at the touch of his skin, the pain multiplies past mere words, and she lets out a shrill screech that echoes throughout the stone walls like a banshee's cry, as his dark magick forces itself upon her accursed form. The beast within her howls, writhing and thrashing, and her body quakes, unable to move, trapped in the demon's ethereal hands, as the sorceror strangles the wolf-beast that she ran with, that was her, part of her, protected her, fed her, provided for her...

It lingers, for far longer than it should, and she can feel its agony, its fear, even as it tries to whisper a reassurance to her, a lie it can't quite convince her of before the curse falls still within. All at once, she feels the curse lifted, the might and hunger and soul of the beast, what was a burden for so long, suddenly gone. Her body feels weak, empty, and suddenly everything is dark again.

There is still a light flickering in the hall, but now it only floods the dungeons with low, red light. Sharp features frame his face, and his eyes glow in the darkness. His hand releases her throat, and even the demon hands pulse quietly until they carefully let her go.

For the sheer exhaustion of it, she collapses. She can breathe, though they're shallow, uneven. Her eyes look up at the man, garbed in black, the wand in one hand. She can't smell the evil in him, or the blood, or the screams, or the stolen hearts, but she remembers it. This thing… It took away her beast. Her curse. And yet… She realizes there's no way it can mean goodwill to her.

"Sleep well, dearie," the voice says to her. The lilt is a mockery of well-wishings. "Rest assured… I'll be back."

Her heart races as he turns to leave, his boots making clear notes on the stone. She listens, her neck craning, even after he is long gone from the light. The steps echo, but soon she can't hear it anymore.

It's a quiet, growing kind of terror, then. The horrifying realization that you're alone… _Truly_ alone. More alone than you've ever been. No rescue. No personal strength. The only one who knows you are here is an abomination and one that slays dragons and can rip the wolf from a werewolf with the ease of snapping a stick. She backs into a corner, and pulls her knees to her chest, the noise of her cloth so loud, and everything is so… _silent_.

When the fire dies out, she can't breathe or even scream.


	11. Premonitions & Impropriety

He stretched out his long fingers, gentle against her skin, and hooked one into the ring. The chain rattled her neck, and she wondered idly if she would have a rash from their wild love-making. She smiled shamelessly at the thought while he studied the gemstones as if he'd forgotten his own craftsmanship.

And yet… He was so old, she realized. He had lived for _centuries_. Could you forget your own handiwork if given the time?

"I told you once," he said as if he was reminding himself as well, "That this would protect you from beasts."

She thought back to the memory, so long ago now. At how she had spared a moment's delight for its beauty, and then almost forgotten it since, but for when it did its job, letting her into his home for the first time, saving her from a suspicious Argee, all teeth and claws. "It did." And yet, the statement came out like a question.

He laid it once more on her skin. "It didn't protect you from me."

She shivered at the black accusation. She reached out to stroke the hair from his face. He still blamed himself. Even after all of this, her signs that she had forgiven him… "I… wasn't wearing it that night," she confessed. She didn't know she would have had to admit it, but now… it seemed right to say it. He moved in the darkness and put a hand at either side of her.

He had such a powerful _presence_. It was like he was pressing down on her, even when their skin didn't touch. His magick was just that… heavy. But it wasn't uncomfortable. It was warm, like a good coat, or woolen blanket. And it made her feel safe.

"Why would you do that?" His voice was little more than a purr, but it made all of her bones rattle at once.

It was hard to breathe. "I don't know," she whispered. "I think… I wanted to feel you better." It was why she wore it on a chain, now — so long ago, she hadn't realized how much the charm protected her… But also how much it kept from her. "But… I tend to forget it. I had left it on my bedside table and… didn't notice until the next morning." He moved a leg between hers, and she had to swallow before she could continue. "I had the strangest feeling it was laughing at me."

He carefully moved his second leg to meet the first.

"Laughing?" he echoed. She suspected that he was only passingly interested in what she was saying, and far more intrigued by how his motions changed _how_ she said it.

She nodded, trying again to swallow. The way his thighs took communion with hers made it hard to think. "Like…" He swayed beneath and above her. "Like it had been waiting for it. And was amused to…" She huffed in frustration, fighting to keep down the blood that made her face flush, and clouded her mind with the animal desire of the passion. She attempted to focus on the crinkle of the sheets in her fists. "To see it happen at last," she finished quickly.

She saw his lips curve ever-so-slightly into a smile. "See what happen, precious?"

She woke with a gasp.

Her hand flew first to her breast, but there was no chain, no ring to be teased by her master's long fingers. She flung out a hand, and let out a breath of relief as she realized it was still there — on her finger in the same spot it had always been.

She clenched her fists on the sheets, shutting her eyes, and fought to get her breathing under control.

After the air was flowing to her head at a reasonable pace, cool and rational after the blushing, oblivious bliss of rushing blood, she nevertheless found her mind drifting back to the dream.

It had been her and the Master — oh, what a thing to think! And what a _dream_ …

She was certain that it was a lost cause — she could not fight the red that was likely covering her from ear to shoulders. But how his voice had shaken her, the feel of his magick wrapped around her, his skin warm and electric against her own, the crisp sheets, the satin of the duvet, the softness of the pillows, the feel of his hair in her fingers, the _smell_ of him…

She marveled, it had all felt so real. So much detail! She had never imagined her imagination could imagine such things… But imagine them it did! She wondered… would it really be like that?

She sat in awe of the thing, enjoying the soft warmth of her own fantasy for only a while longer, before reluctantly putting it aside before it stole more of her life away than it deserved. Her and the Master! Such impropriety…

But it had been such a _lovely_ fantasy. She secretly wished it might return to her soon…

…but wait. What had ended it?

She frowned. Usually, dreams ended in a jolt, a jump. Something that didn't quite fit, somewhere. She ran through, trying to find where her mind had found enough fault to wake her (so much to enjoy! What could have pulled her from the dream?)… And then she found it.

He had called her _precious_.

She blushed furiously. Oh my. What a wanton mind she had! The Master didn't call her 'precious'. He called her 'girl', 'child', and occasionally 'dearie', like Rosencrantz did, but never 'precious'. That… that was what Jefferson called her.

"Two wizards," she breathed, flattered by the idea that two of the world's magickal elite would pay her enough attention to _compete_ for her heart. Even just as a fantasy, it made her rather giddy to consider it. Like something out of those fanciful novellas that she used to read as a girl before she knew what it meant…

The thought still had her glowing as she dressed, and wandered downstairs. The dragon was already sitting in its usual perch, Guil with his nose buried in a book, but Rose looked up at her with something like interest. She could feel the golden eyes following her as she tended to the kettle. She turned back, meeting them, a question on her brow.

This made him smile. "Did the Master come to visit you in the night, my dear?" Rose asked.

The idea that he could somehow read her mind set ice in her gut. "What?" She gaped, horrified, at the dragon.

Guil snapped his head up. "ROSENCRANTZ!"

"What!" Rose asked, a claw rising in his defense. "That's the face!"

The dragon snarled, the other talon jabbing towards the offending head. "You don't just ASK the girl that! It's incredibly rude! If she did or not is none of your business — it's between her and the Master. It is unwise to meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger!"

Lorelai was red again, staring at the kettle. She felt sick to her stomach. "No… He didn't come to my bed last night."

The pair of them blinked at her. Then Guil turned on his brother. "See, you git?! That's why you say nothing!"

"Damn," he cursed. "I was really hoping. It had been _some_ time for him."

"Oh, you're the worst!" Guil spat, turning his head away in disgust.

She fingered a small teapot, not sure what to say to the suggestion.

To make matters worse, the dragon began to curse, and when she looked about, it was gone. She looked over her other shoulder, and the _Master_ slipped in.

_Oh, gods… Just strike me down now_ , she begged, silent, teeth worrying her lip. She put on her best smile for him. "Good morning, milord." She even threw in a small curtsy. "Tea? Breakfast?"

"Breakfast… yes." He seemed distracted, and only glanced up at her, some journal under his arm, a writing implement she didn't recognize in his fingers. She tried not to notice how rumpled he looked, hair a mess, the black shirt just parted, but perfectly decent, if not quite awake. It made his growl a little lower, his accent a little thicker, and her mind insisted on lingering.

_Keep to your task, girl,_ she chided herself, eyes on the cabinets as she got out a teapot, and made up his coffee. "Coffee, sir?"

"Please."

"Would you like porridge? Egg? Toast?"

"Ahh…" She glanced back to him, and his eyes, which had been watching her, moved quickly away, his hand hesitating over the page. He waved his free hand, before tucking it under his temple once more. "Whichever. Whatever is convenient for you."

She swallowed hard, wondering if the Master had ways of hearing her thoughts. Or Argee's thoughts, or if, worse of all, he'd overheard their conversation… But as she stole another glance, he seemed dedicated to his work, and she decided not to test the theory.

Eggs, then. She made a generous scramble, with onions and peppers and a little cheese tossed in, and split it between two plates, along with a slice of toast. She served him his plate, just to the side of where he was working, and he quickly closed it up, marking his place with the… whatever it was he was writing with, and slid it to the side, letting the plate take center stage.

"Ah… This looks lovely, my dear."

She allowed a small smile. "Your coffee."

"Thank you."

She brought her own pot of tea, a little dish of sugar, and even a couple of his favorite chocolates, which she set by his cup.

His eyes twinkled, and he let out a soft sound, his lips smiling. "Part of a balanced meal, hmm?"

She gave a little shrug. "I know you like your chocolate."

"Indeed." It did please him tremendously, and the warm smile was contagious. For a while, it was quiet, only tinkling of forks and a by-now obligatory remark on the progress of her cooking. She'd be hard-pressed to ruin an egg scramble but took the compliment with polite humility.

He'd finished his toast and most of his breakfast and was pouring himself a second cup of coffee when he decided to opt for real conversation. "So… You found me at last?"

"Well. I suppose it should be said, the castle let me find you." She took another bite, her eyes constantly drifting to the brown leather journal he'd brought with him, but knowing it was far beyond her place to ask, even passingly, what he was working on. Guil's words about "quick to anger" came to mind. "I also found an entire closet full of shiny things the other day."

His hands hesitated, his tone guarded. "Did you?"

"I did. Argee assured me it was safe to clean, and it was a good day and a half's work. I'm actually rather pleased the third-floor corridor came up when it did because I was running out of things to clean."

He chuckled, and it was a rather warm and pleasant sound. She also really rather liked the way his eyes wrinkled in the corners. His eyes were like sweet brown chocolates and welcoming. She didn't even much mind the graying at his temples. It made him look handsome, wise. He was a wizard, he ought to look the part. "God forbid the little housemaid runs out of house to maid."

She noticed he said 'God' instead of 'gods', and found that interesting. She was even tempted to ask but held her tongue. "Well, I imagine the castle will oblige me when the time comes. Did you want some more?"

He paused, a cup at his lips, and considered it. "No, I think that will be fine." He sipped and put it down. "It is quite good, though. I wasn't sure if you'd be up quite yet."

"Shall I make a scheduled breakfast as well, Master?" After this morning's little… surprise, it made her a little nervous, but there was a very selfish, self-indulgent side of her that really rather liked the quiet breakfast and handsome wizard before her.

"If you like." His smile suggested he rather liked the idea himself. He looked to the wall to where her little clock was, and he marked the time. "9:00, then?"

She nodded, a flurry of excitement in her belly. She'd have to hunt through the culinary books again and find something special for him. "9:00. Coffee service as well."

He had that strange look again — like he was going to say something else, but was debating how to phrase it. But instead, he turned his eyes back to his plate and finished up his last couple of bites. She sipped her tea, feeling the parting coming close, and indeed, he put his fork on the plate and stood, sweeping his journal under his arm.

"I thank you, my dear. Keep an eye out for the dragons." He gave her a playful wink, and she may have blushed behind her teacup as he went away.

…It took her a long, surreal, stifling moment to bring her heart rate back down to a passing level.

"Saints and stars," she whispered, feeling as if she was about to faint into the remnants of her meal. "That was so… Goodness gracious, me."

"That… was interesting," remarked Rose, as the dragon in question returned to the kitchen.

She spun about with a big grin. "Rose! Guil! Wha— did you see?! Breakfast! I'm going to be doing breakfast, now!"

Guil's smile was doting. "Our little girl, all grown up…"

Even Rose snickered. "Honestly. You're going to be the chef instead of the housemaid."

"Technically, it's caretaker," she noted. "And it's just him and myself and the castle. I mean, I don't have to feed _you_ or anything. You're content to just… read all day, except for a spot of tea here and there."

"And I do _love_ tea," Guil said, returning to his usual perch. "Might we have one?"

"Absolutely, Guildenstern! Rose, do you want one?"

"What's the point? It's going to the same place. Not like I have anything catching…"

Breakfast ended with a lovely tea party, and as she chattered with Argee, she felt unspeakably happy. She couldn't put her finger on it — if it had been the dream, the Master's impromptu visit, or that she had more to look forward to — but something had made her feel almost giddy, and when she did finally finish cleaning up after breakfast and tea and headed off to see what surprises the castle had in store for her today, she did so with a cheerful whistle.


	12. The Mirror Room

Lorelai's first thought was to return to the third-floor corridor (if it was still there), and see what else she could clean, in the hopes that the Master might reveal himself again. But when she got up there and started investigating doors, she found the two studies that she'd attempted to clean previously.

She pursed her lips, fists on her hips. "Are you going to behave today? I've half a mind to leave the door open with my broom stuck in it, to keep you from moving. Somehow I don't know if that will work…" She went to the kitchen for her cleaning cloths, and returned to wiping down the books, hauling armfuls down the stairs to the library as she finished them. After something like five runs, she was getting tired, and decided lunch was due.

As she made herself some tea, she had the thought that brewing some ahead of time and putting it in the fridge would allow for a cool drink later, besides the simple water she kept on hand. It had to be sweetened right, but she could manage it. Or maybe ask the Master to bring her some lemons and she could make lemonade of a kind… She added it to her little list in her book, unsure of how to tell him her desire. Maybe at dinner, or breakfast? She also had the thought of bringing lunch _with_ her, in case the rooms decided to keep moving! Or worse, that the castle might continue to grow, and she would end up with quite a long walk away from food. It would be just her luck that the castle would get mischievous and "misplace" the _kitchen_ for a change. Mindful of this, she searched the cupboards again and found a small canteen that would do wonders for a drink on the go. She even found a small satchel (what was a satchel doing in a kitchen cupboard? She was certain she hadn't seen it before…) that housed her little book quite nicely and packed herself a few biscuits and an extra cuppa tea to bring with her later. _I'm getting quite clever_ , she told herself, enjoying her lunch, a simple sandwich of bread and cheese and a slice of ham. She wondered if the Master were home and if he'd like a lunch…

This time, the door that sounded of beasts was replaced with a heavy wooden door that creaked something loud when she tried to open it. The passageway inside was lined in stone, cold and drafty. Frowning, looking back at the polished wooden floors behind her, she thought about what Argee had said before, about different houses and… gooses, which she didn't quite understand. Assuming this was just another eccentricity of the castle, she stepped in, her boots echoing on the stone, keeping a hand to the winding wall as she climbed.

The stairs opened to a room roughly the size of her own room, but… the only thing it contained was a solitary piece of furniture, draped in an exotic pattern… She stepped closer, her fingers touching the delicately woven carpet, glittering silver and black and purple and jewel tones sprinkled about, and as she stepped around it, she realized it was… A mirror? A stand? At first, she thought it was a frame for the carpet, but the carpet was actually tossed haphazardly over the surface of it. Gripping it close, she gave it a solid tug, and it came down with an echoing grump, a cloud of dust rising from the ground.

It was a mirror. A standing mirror, easily wide enough for two broad-shouldered men, and tall enough for Argee at a stretch. A border thick as her arm framed it in a dark, carefully carved and polished wood, with silver gilding and opals the size of her fist set in so perfectly, she touched it in wonder, trying to see how it would have gone in. As she stepped closer, she wondered at the glass, which was so perfectly still and… bright. No dust at all. She frowned, looking to the rug. It had been dusty, as was the floor it was dropped to, and yet the mirror bore no sign of wear.

She looked to herself in the reflection and blinked at herself. She looked… different. Not to say that her eyes were any bluer than usual, or her hair any darker a brown, but… Yes. Her face seemed a bit rounder, less pinched, less dark, and stressed. The ability to eat when she hungered, to work as she wished and the pleasing company of Argee and the Master had made her… contented? Maybe even happy… And it showed in her face.

As she considered her reflection, she saw something moving over her shoulder in the glass, a shifting of the shadows, almost as a dark, purple mist, ever-present, but thickening, moving, enough for her eye to catch it, but when she spun about, it was the Master behind her.

Something in his eyes was dark, murderous, and his knuckles were white where he clutched his cane.

"You can't be in here." A taste of his brogue belied some kind of rage, and she bowed in submission.

"Apologies, Master. I was just…"

A flick of his wrist and the discarded rug moved back to its place, as if in reverse of where she'd tugged it. Even the dust didn't seem disturbed where it had fallen.

"…Cleaning."

"You will not clean this room. Consider it not your responsibility."

She considered him, her fingers toying at the satchel by her hip. "…Yes, Master."

He stepped back a moment, pointing back the way she came, the door at the bottom of the stairs creaking open, letting a glow of bright light into the cold, dark room. "Go."

She bowed again, low, and her voice was quiet. "Yes, Master." She moved quickly, her nose itching with the dust she upset, and she made the stairs, her heart racing with something like fear, anxious to have upset him, not knowing why a room would present itself to her if she wasn't to clean it…

The Master took longer to come down, but he, too, moved with haste, as if eager to be out of the cold, neglected space. When he reached the hall, he shut it, and pulled a key from his pocket, and locked it.

"…Do not try to enter any door that looks like this." He didn't meet her eyes, and he almost looked pained. "This wood. The mark of the bars. Remember it."

She studied the door, the shade of the aged wood, the way the iron braced it, the bolts that locked it in place, noting it as "forbidden"… and nodded.

"Yes, Master."

He licked his lips, and then he met her eyes, and she had that feeling that he very much wanted to say something again. This time, her patience was rewarded.

"…Tea. I think I should like some. Make us a pot, will you?"

She bowed again, a quick curtsy. "Of course, Master." She spun on her heel to the kitchen (which decided to move itself back downstairs to the second floor), and she busied herself with the task of tea.

Argee wasn't there. And as she considered that, other words he had spoken to her came to mind.

_Some you should never venture into. This is a castle, and it can be dangerous._

Xxx

Tea was a quiet task. Not that the tinkling of china or whistle of the kettle was quiet, but the air seemed to be thick, oppressive as if the Master were watching her, and it swallowed the noise around her. And Argee didn't appear, which made her feel… impossibly alone. As if she were being punished, somehow. She served the tea with the chocolates and biscuits he favored in the sitting room where she had entertained Jefferson and waited for him. She'd never been so nervous, she busied herself with the only thing her fingers could find — the ring he'd given her. She turned it in her fingers, looping it on this one and that, licking her lips, and watched the clock.

The clock said it was three minutes — just enough time to steep the tea — but it certainly didn't feel like a mere three minutes until he slipped in the room, that heavy feeling prickling at her senses, like that feeling that someone was behind you in a dark corridor, but when you turned around, there was no one there. That looming worry that it wasn't so much that it wasn't there, as that it was fast enough to move behind you again, because it didn't want to be seen.

So it was she felt him, more than saw him. Suddenly he seemed bigger, broader than his mere form. As if his shadow, his aura, was massive, and it followed behind him like a bridal train, hot and scratchy. It crawled at her skin, and she sat, stiff and proper, at the end of her seat, and he sat down as well. She said nothing as he tipped a tiny vial of something into the tea, and swirled it about with a tablespoon, upsetting the leaves at the bottom of the pot, and mixing it all together. He didn't tap the spoon on the china but merely set it aside before replacing the lid, serving them both a cuppa as she slipped the ring back on, lest she forget it and anger him more.

"I need you to be more careful." There was almost a growl to his words, some restrained fury that he was gentleman enough not to unleash on her, even if the enormity of his anger followed him like a bad curse. "I am a powerful wizard, with powerful enemies. You will trip yourself into an early grave if you are not more cautious." He looked to her, that chocolate eye watching for any telltale discrepancies with her words.

Her fists clenched at her knees. "Yes, Master. I will be more careful."

He set the teacup before her, before serving himself his usual two sugars. She stared at the brew instead of watching his lips move as he gently blew on it, dispelling the steam, and taking a sip. There was something, ever so small, at the bottom of the cup, like a thin cloud, barely perceptible but that she'd had this particular brew so many times… She glanced at him, but he swallowed his cup without hesitation, a warm, satisfied purr in his throat as it went down. Without a better option, she took the cup, knowing that he hadn't asked her, that he hadn't _ordered_ her, hadn't suggested she drink it. And he had done so in full view, so she would know it was doctored. But he also let her know that he drank it, too. So it couldn't be too harmful.

She drank it black. It was hard to find it under the sharp tang of the tea leaves, a little oversteeped with his stirring, but she did, and it tasted of smoke, of that bitter black when you leave something over the fire too long, and a bite of something else she couldn't place. But the more she drank, the less she tasted it.

She had three more cups before the pot was empty, and she was certain it was a fine addition, whatever it was.


	13. Tea Time

It was hard, but having the burden of a tea tray to slow her pace gave Melisa more time to rationalize. It gave her more time to drill home the fact that… It was her Lord's orders, and she did not want to disobey him. Dark and dank as they were, they had a _guest_ and she was to be… hostly? What was that word? She'd never done a damned bit of maidery her entire life, she didn't know the words. But if there was one thing she'd learned, the Master didn't care. He enjoyed watching her squirm, flounder, and make a general mess of herself. Gasping and hardly able to breathe, she carefully made her way to the dungeon doors, horrible things that they were. They opened slowly for her, perhaps as cautious as she was, and the porcelain chattered against the silver. Inch by inch, she moved slippered feet down the dusty, scuffed, damaged hallway, endless as it seemed until it ended in a circling descent of stairs that held no sconces. She hated this place. The whole castle was wretched, to be sure, but the dungeon was the worst. It bled of him, isolation and fear and despair and all the things that like to gather in the dark. Demons. Her solitary salvation was a fat candle that sat on the tea tray, flickering in the dark as her only means of light. The handles cast odd shadows on the wall, but she kept her eyes on her feet, careful not to drop a damned thing on her way down. If she dropped the tray, she lost her light, and then where would she be?

After about five years (as a conservative guess), she found herself on a level with cells. Iron bars lined the walkway, and beyond them were squares of stone that would house any of the sorceror's 'guests'. There was only the one, at the moment, and she stood at the door to her cage, her fingers wrapped around the rough metal, her eyes seeming to glow yellow in the dark. She said nothing as she watched the nervous girl make her way down the hall, her feet scuffling all the way. Her hands shook, but she concentrated on her movements, lest anything fall. She stopped in front of the cage, and knelt very slowly, the porcelain rattling on its perch, until she could set it down on the cobbles.

Melisa swallowed as she retrieved the candle from the tray. "The Master wishes me to bring you tea. You don't have to drink it if you don't want to."

The guest said nothing, though those inhuman eyes followed her as she lit the lamps on either side of the bars. It wasn't much of an improvement, but it chased away a little more of the shadows.

She paused, looking down the hall as if to make certain he wasn't around to hear her, even though he probably would anyway. And she moved close to the girl. "Please, you must believe me, I'm as trapped as you."

The girl gave a faint hiss, her eyes still that inhuman yellow, hair dark and lank. She ought to be shivering, thin and old as her clothes were now, especially as often as they'd been removed. But then… Melisa wore lots of layers, too.

"I… I can ask him if I can bring you some more clothes. Would you like that?"

She just stepped back, idly moving around the cell, like a pacing dog, marking the edge of her limited domain.

Melisa pursed her lips. "Fine. Don't talk to me. I don't care."

But she did. She wanted so to find someone to talk to. Someone who didn't relish rape and murder and cruelty, and give her absurdly impossible tasks all the time, boasting about ripping poor beasts like this one to shreds. Not that she'd ever thought she'd take pity on a werewolf, but… that's where her life was right now. She left the tea things there and marched back down the hall, so sure she could hear some faint, hissing laughter from whatever was watching her in the shadows, and it grew into a murmur at her ear when she sped her pace, eager to get out of the dungeon.

If she slammed the door so hard it echoed down to the cell where the ungrateful guest was pacing, she told herself that it served her right, even as she begged the gods for forgiveness.


	14. Blur

The week went by in a blur. She remembered Argee observing her strangely at first, and also that the Master seemed to come out of hiding more. She could almost _sense_ him. Like there would be a thought in her head that coffee would be nice, or perhaps a sandwich, and no sooner had she started setting the plates than he would come in. Dinner was a continuing growth of success, and she quite enjoyed her idle chores, keeping tabs on the rooms she'd already cleaned, sweeping the floors, and even a bit of light reading here and there. Montmorency visited twice, both times teasing about a ball on Saturday, but the Master was rather firm. He didn't even stay for tea, just to tease, and the Master sent him away again.

As the Master walked past her in the halls, he would smile at her, that unspoken request in his eyes, but she would only nod as he went by, smiling as well.

Things were nice.

One day, she'd set on a pot of beef stew from one of her recipe books, and let it cook long and slow, the smell cloistered in the kitchen, and she'd offered the Master a snack in the waiting. Crunchy crackers, spiced summer sausage (she was getting better at slicing them thin and even), and a little bit of a rich yellow cheese that tasted exquisite. There had even been a bottle of wine in there, and it had just seemed a good idea to serve them each a glass of it and set out the tray on the low table in one of the sitting rooms. As if he had heard her calling, he had come in and joined her, and she had chosen a book about a girl in a castle with enchanted objects and a hairy beast, while he studied some tome of gramarye. She caught herself looking over at him now and again admiring his silhouette against the grand chair set near hers, and the sheer indulgence of the cheese and wine.

All of which was rudely interrupted at once, when the jangling of bells rang out from the kitchen.

"What in the devil was that?" he muttered, closing his book.

"I'll check the kitchen, milord," she answered, pulling a ribbon into her place and setting the book down on her chair. It made her sad to leave such a perfect place — and just as the poor girl was being attacked by wolves! — but still, she tucked her head into the kitchen. It didn't seem to move quite so much, now. The bell in question was the one reading GARDEN DOOR, and she hummed to herself, turning to act on this, when the Master moved past her, a slight breeze with his briskness.

"I'll fetch it, dearie, no worries. Go back to your book, now."

She was curious, but she returned to the other room, picking up her book and dutifully opening it back up, but she didn't actually read. Her ears listened to a muted, cheery voice somewhere away, and then the swinging of the door, and her Master's harsh tone.

And then, the voices were getting louder, and there was a calamity of boots on the stairs.

"—Where is she, then? Did you gobble her up, you old beast?"

Bells and boots came up the stairs, and he about walked right past but caught himself mid-step when he saw her.

"There she is! You devil, she's just there!"

"Montmorency, if you _please!_ "

But he wasn't listening. Cheeks flushed a radiant shade of scarlet, bright blue eyes burning with a bright and jealous fire, chestnut curls a riot of activity, and his majestic cloak still tied about his shoulders. He stopped at her feet, the poor girl staring in complete shock, eyes wide and book clutched to her breast, just as the Master came in behind him, clutching a hand to the chair he'd been at before, limping strongly from his bad leg.

"I had to see if you were well, precious! It's been days and days, and none of your lovely tea. I was quite afraid he'd gobbled you up."

"Yes, I do think I heard that," she answered, voice sharp. A fluttering part of her mind protested at such rudeness, but her eyes stayed glaring, the Master's the same.

"Montmorency, I must protest, this is _my home_. You cannot just barge in here like some kind of… raving lunatic!"

"Solomon, I really do _detest_ that name. It's far too proper, but please yourself." He waved off the Master and began peeling off his gloves. "Precious, I _must_ know. Has he been doing dreadful things to you? Why haven't I seen you? What's the matter? All week, he doesn't come to Temple! Working, he says. But then I come in, and you're nowhere to be found. What's happened?"

She pursed her lips. "Absolutely nothing has happened. You're being foolish. And unaccountably _rude_."

" _Very_ rude. We were just reading, you could have ruined a delicate spell!"

"Or dish!" she added.

"Quite right!" He nodded in agreement, gesturing to her.

She smiled, looking at him, pleased that they were of an accord.

Montmorency, on the other hand, looked dubious. He glanced between the pair of them, frowning those great brown eyebrows of his, eyes darkening into something like stones and stormy seas. "…Nothing has happened? No gobbling?"

She rolled her eyes. "Absolutely no gobbling."

"Except for perhaps dinner. She's getting rather good."

She beamed again, and he smiled, too. Proud, she would like to think. Dare she say, admiring?

Montmorency made a noise of confusion. "…The bloody hell is going on here?"

"What do you _mean_ what's going on? Nothing's going on!" the Master protested, waving an arm. "You fret! You fuss. You worry. _Nothing_ is going on."

"If this is another attempt on your behalf to get me to go to the ball because you fancy me, you're quite out of luck," she added, a dangerous shade of coy appearing where she'd never dared to show it before. Scandalous!

Montmorency gawked, jaw dropping to his chest. "What?! That's ridiculous! I never—"

"I _really_ think you should go, More," the Master warned. "You've made quite enough of a fool of yourself."

"I—! You—!" He pointed at the Master, and then at her, the bewilderment a bright green that made her think of sea glass, and then he threw his arms in the air. "Blast it all! You've both gone mad!"

…And yet, he turned on his heel, bells protesting as he went, and began to stomp down the stairs. "This is ridiculous!" he called as he went, but Lorelai kept to her seat. "You're up to something, I can _smell_ it, and it's something to do with that poor girl, and I won't stand for it!"

The Master offered her a quick apology, hands pressed together as he bowed that improperly low bow to her, and she nodded her head in kind. Then he was on his heel and following the madman down the stairs.

The conversation continued where she couldn't hear, and she opened her book again, resting it on her lap. This was a little more entertaining than the wolves, to be fair. When the door shut, she listened still.

His steps were much slower coming up, and she could hear the pain in his gait, long before she saw the twist of his face as he favored his good leg.

"…My apologies, dearie. That one's mad as a hatter, sometimes. I'll let you get back to your book."

She watched him out of the corner of her eye anyway, pretending to read, as he dropped himself into the chair with a sigh, rubbed his eyes with a scowl, and then returned to his own studies, spectacles in hand.

He even helped serve dinner that night, and she learned that he really enjoyed wine.

xxxx

Wine did not like him, however.

The next morning, she made breakfast as usual, but the man who answered the call of sizzling bacon and a cheesy egg scramble looked a bit worse for the wear.

"Coffee, milord?" she asked, quiet as a mouse. She took care to be gentle with the china as she set it on the table before him, his hands clutching his temples.

"If you'd be so kind," he replied, voice hoarse. "It's been some time since I've had a drink. I don't think I was quite prepared for it."

She personally thought that perhaps it had more to do with the fact that he had most of the bottle to himself, but it wasn't quite her place to say it. "As you say, milord." Breakfast was quiet, and at the end of it, he thanked her again.

"I needs must make an appearance at Temple today, lest Montmorency come barging in here again, barking madness…" The name wasn't quite a curse, but it bore enough ill will that she pursed her lips as well. "I may as well stay out for dinner. Don't wait up for me, dearie."

Her heart dropped a step, but she tried not to notice. "Very well, milord." She nibbled at her bread, not meeting his eye. But when she looked up, there was that question again. It seemed a happy, pleasant question, a mere sparkle in his chocolate eyes, but he still did not have the courage to speak it.

"Until then, my dear." He stood, and gave her a gracious (and as always, too low) bow, and she smiled, her eyes dampened by the news of his absence, and answered with her own curtsey. His limp was noticeable but manageable as he slipped out of the kitchen. She set aside the remnants of his breakfast and what was left in the pan for a snack or lunch and stashed it in the larder. She made herself tea as well and went back to her chores.

Tempting and wonderful as the crackers and wine had been yesterday, she wanted to get to a new room today. There was a new door on the third floor with white paint and a purple insignia that intrigued her, and that had been unlocked last she checked it. She was just filling up a bucket of hot water for the mopping when the Master came by the kitchen, greeting her with another smile.

Her smile was thin. "Feeling better?"

"Much. A good meal and lovely company will do that." He gave her a wink, and her smile widened, even if she didn't quite feel it today. She didn't like how he tortured himself so. "I'm off. Have fun today."

"Oh, by the buckets full," she replied, looking back to her task.

His laugh was a merry one, as his boots clipped down the hall. She had her bucket full and was lifting it over the ledge when Argee popped his heads in.

"Is he gone, then?"

"AHH!" She about spilled it all over herself, splashing the floor instead, heart racing in surprise. "Rose! Guil! Gods, ye gave me such a fright!"

They blinked, patient, as she settled the bucket on the floor. "…Didn't mean to." Nervous feet moved, unsure if they were still welcome…

"It's just… I haven't seen you in a while. I almost thought you'd left." As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she laughed at the absurdity. "But then, where would you go?"

"Oh, it's a big castle," warned Rose. "You'd be surprised."

She shrugged. He had a fair point. "Quite probably." She began to shuffle toward them, and they moved out of the way. "So. Tired of our little tea parties?"

"Not at all," Guil answered.

"We miss them terribly, to be honest," added Rose.

"Really? How curious." She began her way up the stairs, and the dragon followed close behind, scales grinding against the wood as he went.

"It's just that… the Master's been home a lot."

"His moods keep changing."

"We're just a bit nervous to be about, that's all."

"Not sure that he wants us around, much."

She turned back to him as she hit the next landing, putting the pail down, panting. "Really? Why is that?"

Guil's ears ducked back. "We remind him of things."

"We talk too much," added Rose.

"In general, we make him unhappy." He looked down at his claws as if that was the worst thing one could imagine. "It's killing us, believe it or not."

"Not that we die."

"But if we could…"

"…It would be murder."

Guil blinked and looked at his brother. "Little melodramatic, don't you think?"

"A bit, sure."

Lorelai just laughed, and picked up her bucket again, inching forward. "You two kill _me_. Still… I'm glad to see more of him. At least he's eating."

"And the castle's clean," Rose added.

"And the books are being read! Oh, you don't know how much they miss being read."

She looked over her shoulder at them. "Books miss being read? What a funny thought."

"Well, not being _read_ per se. I mean, they do. But mostly, they like being touched. Something about the dust unsettles them."

"Well, some of them like it. But they like having the dust brushed off a lot more."

"Aye, but I think that would go for just about everyone."

…That thought led to a place she told herself she would not go. "So. Keeping the books company, then?"

"Oh, always!" chirped Guil. "Some of them I just _can't_ read too many times! He's got quite a library, you know."

"And a lot more scattered about the place."

"I've tried collecting them, but I'm always so _worried_ he was reading that one, and I end up putting it back and dusting it back up again."

The thought of the dragon dropping dust on a book to disguise the fact that he had been reading it struck her as incredibly funny, and she giggled again.

"…I realize I rather missed you two," she said, just as she reached the third floor, and grinned when she saw the object of her desire was still there. She looked over her shoulder at them again. "So. What's in that door there?"

They looked where she nodded, and Rose narrowed his eyes.

"That's the cottage, that is."

"Attic of the cottage," Guil added. "I believe that's the Astronomy Tower."

"Astronomy Tower in a cottage?" she echoed and shrugged. "Well. I'd be surprised, right?"

Rose gave a toothy grin. "Quite probably."

She tried the handle and was pleased that it opened. It swung inside, the familiar cobblestones of the garden door and favored sitting room lining the wall, and a great glass roof up top, that made her jaw drop as she stared.

The sky was a merry periwinkle, dawn's creeping light coming from the horizon, trees and trees and trees as far as she could see… The forest she had come through with the Master! She set the bucket down, and stepped in, staring up at the stars, twinkling diamonds in blue velvet, clear and bright and _beautiful_.

"…Oh, I like this."

"The cottage is actually on a mountaintop, with a bit of jiggery-pokery."

"By which he means a magick cloak that distracts the passers-by."

"It feels like hours, but you can walk through this forest quite unaware of passing time." Guil smiled, pleased. "An excellent side effect is that it's almost always starlight in here."

"Crafty bit of magick, actually. The place was left for him by his grandfather."

Lorelai switched her head back. "His grandfather?"

"Sure. His family has always had magick."

"Comes with the territory," added Rose. "Dragons and castles and things."

"Hmm." She considered that, looking up at the stars again. _Almost always starlight_. The idea excited her, but now she looked about her, to see what work would need doing.

A giant… _thing_ stood to one side, like a ginormous spyglass, propped against the wall. She dreaded even touching it, certain it would be deceptively fragile and decided to save it for last. The stone brick could do with some scrubbing down, and the floors needed some sweeping, but it wasn't nearly as dusty here as in some places.

"…This has been cleaned more recently than the others."

"Yes, I imagine so," Rose replied, frowning at the floors. "The Master comes in here quite a bit for astronomy and the like."

"Might be one of the only things he's cleaned," Guil added, rolling his eyes, and they both snickered.

Her eyes spotted a desk in one corner, and on it was notes, written in his hand, fresh questions and speculations, charms and diagrams she didn't understand, and a small cuppa, empty, and a plate that she remembered serving a sandwich on the day before. She smiled at it, and put it in her bag, to take back to the kitchen. "…I like this place." She first did the walls, then a sweep and a mop, and carried the dirty dishes down while it dried. Teatime and a snack of fresh fruit, then back up to try at the desk. She was very careful to lay out the papers as he had them elsewhere, tidy up the desk, wiping it all down and straightening his stack of books, and returning his papers as best as she could. She left chocolate in place of the dishes and was quite satisfied with her little surprise.

Around the room were a variety of instruments like the giant spyglass, but one of them she had taken for a grandfather clock and was quite startled when she went to begin to clean it, and realized it was nothing like any clock she'd ever seen! It had a massive clock face, yes, but the numbers were… well, there were too many of them. It counted from I-XII twice, and then there was another ring here with strange markings she didn't recognize, and a good seven hands, some of which had little baubles on the end. There was a star — or was that a sun? — here, and a rolling ball there, painted in black and white. The background was also strange, with sweeping curves of blue, gold, and purple.

"What _is_ this thing?" She spoke the question to herself, but Argee naturally answered.

"Astronomy Clock," Rose replied.

"Tells the time of day — day and night — positions of the planets, moon phases, solar alignments…" Guil rattled off a few until his brother elbowed him. " _Ow_."

"Terribly useful, provided it's in proper working order."

"Huh." She tapped at the clock face, which didn't seem to be moving. "It doesn't _seem_ to be working."

"Well, that's because of that spell he has on the place," Rose replied.

"Slows down time — or replays it, as the time can be. I believe the clock controls the mechanism, actually."

"So… I wouldn't touch it if I were you."

She scoffed. "How am I supposed to clean things when I can't touch them? Really!"

Rose opened his mouth to reply… and stopped, frowning.

"She makes a rather good point," Guil mused.

"What _can_ I clean around here?" She looked from the "astronomy clock" to the spyglass and a series of other instruments that made her nervous just looking at them. Argee looked, too, and then at each other.

"I think you've about done it, actually."

"Yes, I do believe each of those instruments is terribly old, terribly delicate, and terribly important."

"Unless we want to try that whole 'gobbling' thing Montmorency was suggesting yesterday."

He giggles, even as his brother swatted at him. "Rosencrantz! I say! Brute!"

She rolled her eyes, taking the hint, and gathered up her bucket. "Very well. Back to reading, then. I was going to try something called 'lassanga'. Ever heard of it, Guil?"

" _Lasagna._ Italian dish. Layered pasta with a red meat sauce and cheese, traditionally."

"Messy and tasty. Kind of hard to ruin."

"Well, one could burn it…"

"Shut up, bird brain…"

…As they slipped down the stairs and out of sight, the clock clicked to life, the sky outside adjusting through dawn and morning, the bright brilliance of day, and then on to a glorious sunset, the sky rippled in purples and blues, and locked with another click. In the distance, the lights of the Moortown where Lorelai had first met her Master came to life with the evening, too far away to be heard high in the mountain, hidden under a cloak of magick and silence.


	15. Glamour

Contrary to the Master's intentions, going to Temple did not actually deter his reckless companion.

In fact, the Man With Bells was back bright and early the next day, the Master at his heels.

"Lorelai?" he called, making it a cheery song, that nevertheless made her curse quietly, tidying up a sitting room. The dragon hesitated, pressing himself against a wall, conflicted by wanting to see Montmorency, but avoid the Master. She cursed all the way to her own room, shutting the door behind her as she scurried up the stairs.

"Lorelai, precious, where are you?" his voice called at the foot of the stairs, just beyond her door. She squeaked, and dug into her closet, pulling out a decent dress that wasn't soiled and dusty.

"Really, More, this is quite ridiculous."

"Solomon, I can _smell_ it. There's something not right about this house. More so than usual. Not to mention that your poor dragon hides every time you're home like some kicked puppy, and now your maid is doing the same — Lorelai, darling, are you about?"

His voice kept on down the hall, but her Master's voice stayed outside her door, his boots staying on the wood, doubtless somehow knowing that's where she'd gone. "Perhaps she's hiding…" he mused, a laugh in his voice.

_Yes, and you bloody well know where you… You brute!_ She tossed her dirties under the bed, hoping the castle would take care of it, or else to keep it out of sight until she could be bothered with it, and she pulled on a simple dress in a buttery yellow that should be quite decent enough.

"Hiding, yes, that's exactly the word for it. Lorelai, do come out! I would love a spot of tea…" His voice lilted as if trying to tempt her, and she scoffed as she tied it taught against her waist.

"Bloody wizards," she hissed to herself. She chanced a look in the mirror and groaned, pulling out her hair and tying it back again in a semi-matching headscarf. It was still rubbish, but less rubbish, and it would just have to do. She did a quick twirl and gave herself a nod. "It'll do for now." Her boots clipped on the wood stairs, and she heard him move away from the door as if he hadn't been guarding it the whole time.

"…I think I hear her coming now."

She hesitated for a moment, not remembering how the door swang, but when she peeked out, her Master smiled from across the hall. He was dressed in black, long, crisp robes that looked quite professorial, but not unhandsome. The buttons strewn down the length of his wrists were particularly fetching, and it made his skin and hair look warmer by comparison.

She shut the door behind her and gave a low curtsy. "My apologies, milords. You caught me in a state of undress."

At the end of the hall, Montmorency turned on his heel, still garbed in his own coat, bells jingling as he moved. "Well, there she is! Precious, we've been talking about you _all day_ , and I simply had to come see you."

She was quite certain that wasn't exactly proper, but when she looked to the Master, he seemed rather amused.

He leaned in, eyes sparkling, hand up to hide a stage whisper. "My dear, I think he quite fancies you."

"Oh, enough of that," More replied, waving him away. "That's where she's getting that nonsense, straight from you." He reached forward, and she was surprised when he actually _touched_ her, gentle fingertips gripping the edge of her chin.

"Come. Let's get a look at you, dearie."

"Oh, please, I—"

"Ah ah ah! Just be a good sport."

Even the Master spoke in her defense. "Really, Montmorency, I'd rather you didn't."

Montmorency smiled at him as if he'd arrived fashionably late to a magick trick. "Oh, you just don't want me spoiling your hard work. But how _ugly_ could she be, hmm?"

She had no idea what he meant by that, but she had plenty of call to be offended. Her jaw dropped. "Ugly?!"

"Never you worry, my dear, I'll soon have it sorted."

He turned her to a wall and conjured a mirror, and still, she protested. "Sir, I—"

But the reflection in the mirror caught her by surprise. Primarily because… The girl in the mirror he produced looked nothing like the reflection she had just been looking at upstairs.. Yes, it'd been a while since she'd had the luxury of looking at a full-length looking glass, but _never_ had she looked like this. The eyes that stared back at were the grey of ash. Dirt and soot smudged at the edges of her lips, and skin the colour of mud wrapped around the gaunt face that was too roundly cut to be hers. But she was wearing the same butter yellow dress, and the hair scarf she had hastily wrapped around her messy hair was also on this stranger, binding back her mess of unruly, coal-black curls. Lorelai raised a hand to touch the mirror, and the girl responded in kind.

Montmorency looked from the dark girl's confusion back to her Master, the request still dancing in his fingers. But he was staring at her, too. He tucked one hand under his elbow, the other writhing in front of his face, turning over and over a ring on his finger. "If you don't mind, it's a very heavy enchantment," he said. "It took a lot of work to craft, so don't."

The wizard guest put his immaculately-manicured hands on his firm hips, bound as they were in perfectly tailored slacks. "Well, how about a temporary reveal?" he bargained. "I am awfully curious, now. Like, it's been bothering me for _weeks!_ "

But his eyes never left hers. For a moment, he said nothing. And then she heard, although his lips never moved, _Do you want to?_

Lorelai stared at the girl in the mirror, and then looked back at him. To her unspoken question, he closed his eyes and nodded, waving the fretful hand as he took a step back. "As you wish." Montmorency pulled out his wand with a delighted flourish, but her Master warned him again. "Be prepared for pain, my friend."

The maid watched the wizard's eyes tear themselves from hers to look to his fellow magicker, and she wondered if it was an ambitious threat or a genuine disclaimer. She hadn't been here long enough to know the affairs of wizards, and if truth be told, was rather curious as to the answer herself. But Montmorency just shrugged it off, shaking his head to the side as if to dislodge the doubt, and waved his hands towards her. She could scarcely feel something like a brushing of wind, even though not even a hair on her head —- or the hair on her reflection's head —- moved.

" _Recessero caligines. Revelare pulchritudinem deorsum_."

As he stared at the back of her head, she felt a warm tingling on her skin. A small cloud of golden dust appeared in the air his wand stirred, and as it grew, it began to descend. She could feel the magick creep over her, cool and fuzzy, and the stranger's gypsy-wild tresses melted away. Her own honey-caramel hair appeared beneath, shiny as if freshly brushed, despite her having worked most of the day, and pulled it back in a haphazard tail. The spell trickled slowly down her face, and she watched as milk poured into the girl's skin, as her ashen eyes turned to a blue as clear and sparkling as a fairy's freshwater pond. Lorelai's face revealed itself, but as the spell touched her shoulders, he gasped.

She looked up to Montmorency's reflection; he tossed his wand as if it had burned him, clutching his wrist. Panicked eyes looked out of a red face, his chest heaving from the exertion.

"Damned by the gods," he breathed. "What evil is this?"

She looked to her Master in the mirror to find him smiling. It was that beastly smile, and she could almost see the sharp, pearlescent fangs, feel the heat of his breath, smell the smoke. "I did warn you — it is a heavy enchantment." He touched his hand to her shoulders and like a blanket, a purple dust fell from above. She watched the girl's strange form fall away, the truth standing in her place. But… the cheeks were fuller, and the hips, and the… everything. She knew she was well-fed here, but the health made her positively glow with contentment. Lorelai smiled, pleased at how far she'd come from the starving, desperate girl she'd been when he'd found her. Her Master's eyes were soft as they gazed into hers, and something in her belly flipped unpleasantly.

The other wizard shook the pain from his hand, looked up, and… he stared.

"Oh my." He joined the Master behind her. She had that feeling, again, that he was trying to see through her skin, but this time… He was merely looking at _her_. "My _my_. Oh, she _is_ pretty, isn't she?" He looked upon his companion with newfound mischief. "Oh, you've been _hiding_ this beauty, haven't you?"

"At which point I remind you that you are a _guest_ in this house," the Master replied. His hands tightened ever so slightly, and the magick flowed through her body — like he'd poured iron into her very blood, and she instantly felt stronger, heavier. Protected.

The wizard guest looked at this new reflection, and the girl was sure she saw his eyes glitter with something dangerous. She looked to the Master, but his expression was blank, his eyes distant, his hands still holding strong on her frame. For a long moment, there was a battle of wills behind the two magickers, but Montmorency stepped away. "As you wish, Solomon. But, now I will not take 'no' for an answer — you understand."

And just like that, the Master caved, a scoff, a roll of the eyes, and his hand pressed to his nose, the other oh-so-lightly still on her shoulder. " _More_ … Enough with the Ball!"

"I mean it! You could win _prizes_ for this level of craftsmanship…"

"I would rather not boast it about like some kind of… parlor trick." Even as he shook his head to his friend, his eyes caught hers in the mirror.

_I appreciate your patience. You can go back to what you were doing before._

She nodded, ever so slightly, and slipped away from them, his fingers as light as feathers on the back of her neck as she stepped out of his reach. It made her shiver, and she ducked down the stairs as the two of them argued.

"This is rubbish! You're bloody brilliant! You're talented! Yet you _hide_ like some brooding old fool who is all pomp and circumstances, and not a lick of talent!"

"Montmorency—"

"And I _distinctly_ remember you saying you had a Moorlander," he added in a hiss, as soon as she had ducked out of sight. "But that alabaster skin calls you a _liar_ , in Temple!"

"No, I said I picked her up in the Moorlands," he replied smoothly. "You merely interpreted it that way."

"And how else was I meant to interpret it?" he growled back. "Particularly when you put such a charm on her! You play with words — you don't lie, but you aren't _honest_ either."

"Amongst wizards?" He gave a small huff. "Please. How much of a fool are you?"

"You know, it doesn't even matter — not that anyone cares whether your new housekeeper is a Moorlander or a queen — that makes no difference in the grand scheme of things, because once a deal with a wizard is made, background means very little—" He spoke quickly, the words more exasperation than a lesson to a man who had been teaching for far longer than he'd been practicing. "No, but _this_ …"

For his part, the sorceror said nothing. Lorelai tried to make herself busy in the kitchen, busying herself with the task of tea, even as her ears strained to listen. Perhaps it was their arguing, but there was a taste of magick still in the air, and it made the world thick and abuzz with frantic, restless energies.

When Montmorency spoke again, it was a low tone that she almost didn't make out. "Some are going to accuse you of heart-eating," he warned, his voice just above a whisper — in fact, how she made it out, she wasn't sure, and it would bother her later. "Others will _complain_ that you're not sharing. Neither of which bode well for her soul."

"And what does it matter to you?" he growled.

"It matters!" Montmorency snapped. She could feel the sparkle, the zap in the air. She twirled her ring on her finger, biting her lip. Praying to the gods that this didn't turn into something dreadful… Two wizards fighting! She made to look at the kettle, but all she could think of was that stranger's face in the mirror… "It matters because she is a girl of a good heart. And you are going to _take_ that from her. And if you don't, someone else will."

"Don't you think I know that?" he hissed. "Why do you think I keep her here? Locked up as she is, away from people like… Like that? Those who would… Do such terrible things to her."

She felt her breath catch at her throat, as the pair of them quieted, and she was quite certain there would be another of those battle of wills that was all locked eyes and silent threats. It was Montmorency who first recovered, his resolve unwavering. "Saul, I want you to answer me — and answer me _plainly_ , and honestly — why have you kept her here?"

"She isn't 'kept' here," her Master grumbled, but she could tell from here that it was a lie. The thought made her shiver

"Solomon, that compliance is not voluntary, it is _coerced_. I know it's subtle charmwork, but I can see it, and I can _smell_ it."

He let out a heavy, weary sound, so many of the every-day pressures that he'd collected over the millennia crushing him just enough for a tragic exhale. It was a long moment, where even the kettle seemed to hold its breath to hear his answer. "…I want you to leave."

"Saul, don't do that to me—"

"I said I want you _gone_. Now. Go."

"B-but the tea—"

"I said _NOW_."

Montmorency cursed violently, and she could hear his footsteps, and though they came near and passed, she never saw them pass by her doorway. He continued his fussing down the steps, bells indignant, and they even bickered some more in the hallway, until there was a slamming of the door.

It wasn't until after that pregnant pause began that the kettle began a slow, tentative, plaintive whistle. As if wary to add more noise and fuss to the commotion and earn the Master's wrath. Lorelai's hands were shaking as she took it from the heat, and it rattled on the cooler burner. She jumped, even, when he stepped in the room, and she missed what he said in greeting.

"Sorry!" she squeaked. "I-I'm sorry, milord." She bowed, low, as was proper, and didn't catch his eye, as he hesitated at the doorway. "I-I was just making tea. As requested." She bowed again, out of habit. "I-I can bring it to your Tower, milord. O-or a study. Is not a bother. Whatever you like." She bowed again for good measure, sure she looked like a demented bird at this rate, but she'd rather overdo it on propriety than upset him all the more.

She could feel his anger, whipping about him, clutched close, jealous and hot, and she didn't want it whipped out on her.

She stood there a long moment before she dared to look up.

The expression on his face was pained. He held out a hand… And then put it down, his head hanging as well.

"…Forget the tea. Have some for yourself if you like. I…" He swallowed, and she bowed again, low and proper. "…I'll work for the night."

"As you wish, milord," she answered, bobbing again. "Will you still take dinner?"

"…Yes. Yes, I'll still take dinner." She peeked up again, and he did truly look like he regretted all of it. "And more of that wine, perhaps."

"As it pleases you, milord," she answered, bobbing again. She had forgotten how it could get to your head after a while and took a step to keep her balance.

"…Very well."

That question was in his eyes again, a shattered hope, dying in what might be tears. He turned on his heel and was gone, but she listened to his steps, hurrying away.

And as they reached a door, it swung open and his feet hesitated, limping once more.


	16. Tension

He came to dinner as promised, but it was a quiet affair. She'd had enough silent dinners to not let it bother her, but she was wistful for the conversation and compliments that had almost become the norm. He kept his head down, and ate obediently — almost like they had taken a step backward. She was haunted by the stranger's face in the mirror, and had so many questions she wanted to ask him… But she didn't know where to begin. It certainly wasn't in her place to ask such questions of a wizard, and her Master. And the warnings…

_People will accuse you of heart eating._

She didn't know what that meant, but it certainly didn't sound good. Was he disguising her, hiding her away for her own good? She hadn't thought of it that way. After all, why would one show off their housekeeping staff? It seemed natural that her place was here, not being paraded about like some bauble.

Maybe in another life, she could have been someone's bauble. But that wasn't her life anymore. She was just the caretaker. A maid and a cook and perhaps a spot of company, but not the sort to go to grand balls with wizards and high lords. It was a preposterous notion, the more she thought about it.

…And she did hate to see him fret so. He poked and prodded at his dinner, likely not tasting it. He was hardly half finished with it before he excused himself. She wanted to offer him tea but had the feeling it would be ill-received. He promised to work and slipped away, and she finished her own meal with a contemplative frown.

There truly had been a rather heavy enchantment, and the curious thing was, she had not even realized it. She looked down at her hand, splaying out her fingers as she looked to the ring on one. It sparkled in the flickering lamplight, like a small collection of tiny, glittering berries wrapped in gold and set there. She wondered if the ring had done it and if she'd been wearing it the whole time. Or was it something else? The tea?

No no… Montmorency had been very surprised to see her face. Surely it was before that. From the beginning, then.

She moved it closer, pulling it off and truly examining it for a moment. The gems had been roundly cut, faceted and polished. It looked like new, and yet she knew she'd been wearing the thing while doing some rather dirty cleaning, and she felt ashamed of that.

_But he said it'd keep me safe…_ She thought of Argee, and the first time she'd come in — how the ring had made him stop, and accept her almost instantly. It was a token of a kind. Surely it couldn't mean her harm in the same breath…?

And then, just as suddenly, she had the strangest feeling like someone else was in the room. Or if not in the room, heading towards her, in that strange sense of knowing that you have in dreaming. She listened for a moment, off-center, and nearly jumped at the distant sound of knocking.

She glanced at the clock, which was already late for dinner, and their dinner later than most. She swept away from the table and down the hall, when she heard the knocking again, coming from downstairs. She went to the garden door, and a familiar silhouette was waiting outside.

_Of all the impertinence!_ She thought to herself, pursing her lips. She fiddled with the lock and opened the door, and she realized that, yes, it was Montmorency, but also that he was soaked to the bone, and it was _raining_ outside.

"Can I help you?" she asked, even though the way she said it was, 'What on earth are you doing here?'

His face broke into a brilliant smile, and he laughed a quiet, sad thing. "Oh, gods… Lorelai, at last."

He moved to enter, and she stepped back on instinct, though she didn't like it. "Please. What is it I can do for you?"

"I need to talk to you, you darling girl. To warn you!" He shook his head, splattering rainwater everywhere like a hound, and she raised an arm to cover her face.

"To warn me? Warn me of what?"

"Oh… I wish I knew, child, I wish I knew."

He was turning a hat in his hands that was little more than a lump of wet fabric at the moment. She didn't like him being here this late at night, and she was certain after earlier that the Master would not be pleased to see him. "Oh, bloody hell…" She shut the door and pointed to the sitting room. "Sit by the fire, at least, and I'll fetch you a cuppa tea. ONE cuppa tea! And then home with you! It's late, and the Master has already retired…" She turned to the apothecary and spotted a familiar door at the other side of the room. Making her way carefully over cold stone, avoiding touching any of the cauldrons or dangling herbs, she pushed on the cherry red door that marked the kitchen. She filled the kettle with fresh water, and got out the sugar dish, and made sure it was filled. She left the chocolates and biscuits for her Master, intent on the "only a cuppa" part of her promise.

She didn't know why she was so… cross at him being there. She'd barely seen much of him lately because the Master didn't seem to want to keep his company. Which was entirely his business, and it was rather uncouth to keep pressing yourself on people and places where you were unwanted. She didn't want to admit out loud that she had been enjoying the Master being out so much lately, and Montmorency seemed to be ruining the quiet, happy atmosphere that had been growing between them. The meddling made him anxious, and then he didn't eat, like at dinner tonight. She couldn't help but be a bit angry at that. Not that the Man with Bells could know about that — that was secret housekeeper, caretaker business that wasn't his to know. She wouldn't break confidence. She would be hospitable enough to give him shelter from the rain and a cuppa tea, but it was his own foolishness if he wanted to be out and about in such weather, and she would leave him to it! He was taking full advantage of her hospitable nature, and the fact that she didn't have the nerve to send anyone away, even Montmorency. It wasn't her place, after all.

When she returned with the tea tray, he greeted her with a radiant smile and eyes like turquoise crystal, bright and glistening in the firelight. But when he saw that her tea tray had only his cup of tea, a spoon, and a dish of sugar, the smile dimmed considerably.

"You do mean it, don't you?" he asked her, gentle. "One cuppa."

" _One_ cuppa," she agreed, setting the tray down and sitting at the edge of her seat. "I won't send you back out into the rain without a warm-up first, but I can't say that you are welcome here. Seems every time you come by, it's trouble."

His eyes seemed to turn dark. She couldn't pick out a color in the shade of the firelight, but they didn't look at her. "Yes… Seems it's trouble." He made his tea, four generous lumps of sugar stirred in carefully not to tinkle the edges. He sipped it and seemed to relax a little, letting the tea calm him. And another sip, before he looked up into the fire as if debating very hard something, not knowing how to begin.

Lorelai straightened her skirt a little, her ring catching the firelight with little sparkles of gold, and she smiled fondly at it, stopping her hand to admire it.

When she looked up, he was staring at the ring on her finger, too. His brow was furrowed, as if he were thinking very hard, or else trying to solve some puzzle that was eluding his grasp.

"You don't have to stay here, precious."

His voice was quiet as if he worried about being overheard.

Lorelai blinked at him. "Sorry?"

"We can go, if you like." And then suddenly, he was close — so close she could make out the lines in his face, laughter lines, and crow's feet, and the twists at the edge of his lips, and the fine embroidery of his coat. "You may work for him, but you are not his slave."

She bristled. "…Why would you say something like that?"

He touched his chin to his breast. "Precious, when was the last time you left this house?"

"Tuesday," she answered, without a beat to think. "I went to market."

His eyes closed. "Not work-related."

She bit her lip. Not work-related? Everything was work-related. Tea with Argee, breakfast for the Master. Dusty old books, tending the fires, sweeping and mopping, making war with the years — some were more tenacious than others. Every day, she made another step of progress, and every day the castle — and its master — accepted her a little more. Every day, she learned more about what he needed from her, and she learned how to better serve him.

What else was there, but her duty?

"This isn't just work," she replied. Her voice was soft out of reverence, not from some wizard's paranoia. "This is my life, now."

Blue eyes, bright as the crystals in the Master's mobiles, stared at her, and she couldn't face him. Careful hands hugged her arms, but she still didn't look.

"There's more to life than this, precious." He waited, then touched two fingers to her chin. "Hey."

She tried her best defiance, but he was smiling. Daft madman that he was. It was a sad, hopeful, and cheering smile. "He's just a grumpy old dragon, hoarding all of his treasures." Pain flashed over his features. "Precious as you are, you are not a gem to hide from thieves in this old house, collecting dust. Don't let him keep you in the dark. You _can_ leave this place."

…Why was he saying this? She blinked at him. "Jefferson…" Perhaps his chosen name would help? "Why do you keep trying to take me away from here?"

He leaned back, his face so shocked, she might have slapped him. He collected his hands to himself and turned away. "I… I just… worry," he stuttered.

The coldness in her voice sounded unnatural, even to her ears, but the words felt right. "There's nothing to worry about, More. I'm perfectly safe, here."

He looked in pain. He looked to his teacup, mouth agape, and stood. "I need to go." In his haste to leave, he tripped on something, but he said not another word as he scrambled to the garden door, wrenched it open, and slammed it shut behind him. It took a while for her to shake off the funny feeling, and when she did, all she could think of was the raw fear in his wide, blue eyes.


	17. Wanting

The morning felt cold and lonely. The wizard's caretaker came to in the bleak yellow-grey of sunrise, sprawled in her blankets, the coverings warm, but her body cool and shivering. She'd dreamt of purrs and soft voices, scratchy kisses, and tender caresses. They had danced, fingers lightly touching, her dress thin and lush silk that felt absolutely decadent, his grip strong and unrelenting, spice and leather and smoke. Her feet had barely touched the ground, the ballroom's dance floor pale as ice, spun sugar and stained glass, gentle rainbows beneath her...

And then just as quietly, she had been turning by herself in the sitting room, humming half-remembered ballroom songs to herself as she cleaned, when the Man with Bells swept in, all wild color and brilliant smiles, and he danced around her in his strange, reckless way.

"Come, my dear!" he called to her, taking her mop and waltzing about with it. "Enough with chores! We're going to a ball!"

"For the last time, Montmorency!" Her Master came in the room behind him, looking fierce. "We're not going!"

"The devil we're not," he replied, a mischievous grin on his face. He turned to Lorelai and jabbed the mop at her like an absurd wand, and suddenly her clothes were replaced with an outrageously large ballgown that took up half of the room. It was covered in frills and bows in a bright pink that made one think of silly little girls and not proper ladies. It had the stuffing of ribbons and cheaply made dresses, of poor desperation and trying to stretch that last bit of finery to last another season…

"Montmorency!" she protested, tears coming to her eyes as she pulled the skirt out of a mop bucket of dirty water, the lace at the end now grey from the mess.

"I told you we're not going," the Master growled, wrenching the mop from his hands. "Can't you leave well enough alone?"

"Nonsense!" The madman was light on his feet, and moved to her, taking her hands and turning her about so fast she was quite dizzy, his hands too tight, his feet too quick, inconsiderate, uncompassionate. When he let go, she stumbled, and the Master caught her.

"Madness," he muttered, his voice low, his breath hot at her ear. "Besides. If anyone was to take the lady to the ball, it would be me, and not you."

That made him stop, and he turned to them. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." His hands were around her waist, one at her hip, and the other over her breast. As she realized this, she began to blush, leaning against his solid form. His grip seemed to tighten, and she held to his arms with her own hands, looking up at him. He looked down at her, then. That same unspoken question on his lips, and a dark desire she told herself she was imagining every time we saw it. "You said yourself," he added, though his words were so soft, she was sure he was whispering to her, not to him. "I'm better at such magick." One of his hands moved up to stroke her cheek, and she felt her heart race. "Strong enough to hide my beauty from those that would devour her…"

She felt dizzy for a different reason, then, and leaned up to kiss…

And just as fleetingly, she was pulled away. She blinked awake, lost a moment before she realized it was but a dream. With a sigh, she rested her head to the pillow and found real tears. A few more joined them, and she lingered a long moment, trying to reach out for the sweetness, the glass, and silk, but it had been drowned in the bells and the dizziness.

And then came the shame, thinking of her Master in such a way. As if that's what that unspoken question in his eyes really was… She was fooling herself.

She slipped down to the kitchen for tea, nibbling on a piece of cheese, not having the heart for breakfast. She made eggs anyway, in case he came down, but he didn't. She put them in the larder, not sure if she would bother with them later, and packed herself some water and a snack before going on for her day.

She carried a broom with her, letting it trail behind her, whispering on the wood. She wandered through the hall, checking each room for a disaster or another… or maybe a dragon or a wizard, but she found no one. She knocked quietly on the white door, covered in markings, but he wasn't in his study. She swept up the stairs to the astronomy tower, but he wasn't there, either. She did find a stray book in one of the studies and sighed as she carried it down to the library.

Argee was in there, and they looked up as she entered.

"Morning," Guil called, a quiet query. She didn't answer him, letting the broom trail behind her as she found the set of blue books that the stray belonged with. She tucked it in with its brothers and looked down at the floor to find she was leaving a trail. Having found a thing to do, she picked a corner and started to sweep.

Argee crept around a bookshelf, watching her.

"Everything alright?" Rose asked, his voice gentle.

"…Didn't sleep well," she admitted. As soon as she did, she could feel the weight on her shoulders, the drooping in her eyes, that weariness of having cried. She hesitated in her sweeping. "Montmorency keeps coming back. Even though the Master doesn't want him here."

Rose snorted, and the dragon moved closer. "Well, to be honest, he doesn't want a lot of things he needs. Us for example."

"Or you," Guil added.

She looked up at that.

"…At first, anyway."

"He… Didn't want me?" She didn't know she could feel worse, but now her heart twisted inside her, squeezing and painful, making it hard to breathe.

"It was More's idea, actually," Rose explained. "He'd come in here, stomping about, making all kinds of outlandish suggestions. Tried to drag us into it—"

"THAT didn't work," Guil growled.

"—And then one day he suggested the Master get a maid or something. Someone to help tidy up, feed him a bit, and maybe he wouldn't be so bloody miserable all the time."

She thought of how dreadful she'd been to the Man With Bells the night before, and shame rose in the back of her throat like bile. "Montmorency did that?"

"To be fair, he suggested lots of things," Guil admitted. "But it seemed to have struck a chord."

"He picked you up something like two weeks later. Or… Thereabouts." Rose frowned. "Time is funny, it's hard to say."

"Time is funny…" Lorelai leaned on her broom, her eyes not looking at anything in particular. And then her eye spotted a sparkle as she moved.

"By the way." She set the broom to lean on a shelf, and marched towards the dragon, grateful to have something else to focus on at that moment. "This ring. When I first was hired by the Master, he gave me this ring, said it would keep me safe." She held up a fist to the dragon, almost as if to punch his nose, and yet they barely blinked at her. "And you. When I came to, you already knew I was a guest, not an intruder, presumably because of it. What is it?"

"Uh…" Guil hesitated, looking to Rose.

"It's, um… It's a charmed ring. The Master made it."

Guil nodded, smiling. "Yes! The Master made it."

She frowned. "For me? But you said he'd only had the idea two weeks prior."

"Well, he didn't make it for _you_ , exactly," Rose said. "He made it for, ah…" He trailed off, swallowing hard, looking to Guil.

Guil sighed softly. "He made it for Sheherazade." He reached up a claw to take off the spectacles on the tip of his nose, golden eyes wide and sorrowful. "His wife."


End file.
